THE 

QUEEN'S 

ROGRESS 
AND  OTHER 
ELIZABETHAN 
SKETCHES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT    LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORIAM 
S.  L.  MILLARD  ROSENBERG 


THE    QUEEN'S   PROGRESS 


Oueai  Elizabeth  as  Duma 


THE 

QUEEN'S 

PROGRESS 

AND 

Other  Elizabethan  Sketches 


BY  FELIX  E.  SCHELLING 


Omnia  rerum  omnium,  si  observentur,  indicia 
sunt  et  argumentum  morum  ex  minimis  quoque 
licet  capere. 

SENEC.  EPIST.  52.  12. 


BOSTON  y    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY 

i  904 


COPYRIGHT    1904    BY    FELIX    E.   SCHELLING 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  October  1Q04 


THE  following  sketches  — for  they  claim 
to  be  no  more — are  some  of  the  lighter 
matters  that  have  floated  on  a  stream 
of  reading  and  study  'which  has  already  carried, 
let  it  be  hoped,  a  somewhat  weightier  freight. 
It  is  one  thing  to  taste  the  charm  and  flavor  of 
an  age ;  it  is  another  to  convey  it.  'The  days 
of  Elizabeth  and  James  were  nothing  if  not 
multiform.  Their  trivialities  even  have  their 
place,  and  their  power  to  complete  the  picture, 
whether  historical  or  literary  :  a  power  not  al- 
ways apprehended  in  view  of  the  number  and 
variety  of  the  important  flgures  that  crowd 
the  spacious  canvas  of  that  incomparable  time. 
When  Ben  Jonson  jotted  in  his  commonplace- 
book  the  things  which  took  his  fancy  as  he  read 
or  the  thoughts  which  rose  in  his  mind  touching 
certain  human  actions,  he  called  his  notes  "  dis- 
coveries made  upon  men  and  matter."  Later 

came 


VI 


came  the  appraiser  with  his  stylus  and  inventory 
of  good  things  and  of  bad.  Here  is  neither  ap- 
praisement nor  discovery ;  but  the  object  simply 
written  down  as  it  appears  to  him  who  writes 
to-day ;  more  truly  seen,  let  us  trust \  than  yester- 
day :  perchance  in  need  of  more  light  from  a 
clearer  to-morrow. 


Vll 


Contents 

i.  The  Queen's  Progress  .      .      .       Page  i 
ii.  An  Elizabethan  Will    .     .      .     .      27 
in.   Thomas  Stucley,  Gentleman  Ad- 
venturer     49 

iv.   An  Old-Time  Friendship       .      .      75 
v.   "An  Aery    of   Children,   Little 

Eyases" 103 

vi.  A  Groats  worth  of  Wit      .      .      .129 
vii.   Plays  in  the  Making    .      .      .      .149 
vin.  When  Music  and  Sweet  Poetry 

agree 171 

ix.    Thalia  in  Oxford 201 

x.  A  Journey  to  the  North   .      .      .221 
Index 253 


Illustrations 


Queen  Elizabeth  as  Diana    .     Frontispiece 

From  the  picture  in  the  collection  of  the  Marquess 
of  Salisbury,  at  Hatfield  House 

By  fermission  of  Gonfil  &  Co. 

The  Masque  of  Zabeta  ....    Page  22 

Queen  Elizabeth,  Juno,  Venus,  and  Minerva.    From 
the  picture  in  the  royal  collection  of  Hatfield  Court 

By  fermisiion  of  Gonfil  &  Co. 

Sir  Fulke  Greville,  Lord  Brooke   .      .      78 

After  the  original  in  the  collection  of  Willoughby 
de  Broke 

Edward  Alleyn,  Founder  of  Dulwich 
College 156 

After  the  original  in  Dulwich  College 

Ben  Jonson 224 

From  the  painting  after  Honthorst,  in  the  National 
Portrait  Gallery 

William  Drummond 242 

After  the  miniature  at  Hawthornden 


IX 


THE  gJIEEN'S  PROGRESS 


The  QUEEN'S  Progress 

IT  has  been  said  that  the  character  of  the 
great  Queen  Elizabeth  can  be  painted 
only  in  high  lights  ;  that  if  there  were 
shadows  in  her  nature,  there  were  no  depths ; 
or  at  least  that,  if  there  were  once  depths, 
so  consummate  a  mistress  of  deception  and 
subterfuge  had  she  become  that  it  is  idle  to 
enquire  if  she  were  ever  sincere.  Brilliant, 
accomplished  and  imperious,  tortuous  in 
details,  unscrupulous  in  choice  of  means  to 
an  end  as  her  master  Machiavelli  himself 
almost,  this  latest  daughter  of  the  Italian 
Renaissance  preserved  —  again  like  Machia- 
velli —  a  largeness  of  design  in  her  political 

doings 


The  Queen's  Progress 


doings  which  often  raises  them  from  the 
pettiness  of  intrigue  to  the  wider  domain 
of  statesmanship.  It  was  the  recognition 
of  this  which  kept  men  like  Sir  Nicholas 
Bacon,  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  and  the 
Cecils  her  servants  and  councillors.  But 
despite  her  haughty,  unreasonable  temper, 
her  vanity  and  susceptibility  to  gross  flattery, 
her  mendacity,  and  her  meanness  in  money 
affairs,  there  must  have  been  something  in 
Elizabeth  as  a  woman  to  hold  to  her  such 
men  as  Sidney,  Spenser,  and  Raleigh,  and 
to  beget  in  them  that  choice  spirit  in  which 
were  mingled  patriotic  loyalty  to  a  queen 
who  embodied  in  her  person  the  glory  of 
England,  and  a  chivalric  devotion  to  ideal 
womanhood,  each  ennobling  and  dignifying 
the  other.  Years  after  Elizabeth's  death  so 
grave  a  man  as  Camden,  the  antiquarian, 
could  write  :  "  She  was  of  admirable  beauty 
and  well  deserving  a  crown,  of  modest  grav- 
ity, excellent  wit,  royal  soul,  happy  mem- 
ory, 


The  Queer? s  Progress 


ory,  and  indefatigably  given  to  the  study  of 
learning." 

Whatever  else  may  have  been  true  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  she  had  a  genius  for  so- 
ciety. Her  judgment,  her  tact,  in  all  that 
pertained  to  the  daily  intercourse  of  the 
sovereign  with  her  Court,  her  Parliament, 
or  her  people,  was  unerring.  The  skill  with 
which  she  passed  from  the  gravity  of  the 
council-chamber  to  a  flirtation  with  Alen- 
con  or  a  galliard  prearranged  for  the  Span- 
ish minister  to  witness  her  Majesty  dancing 
unawares,  was  "  an  admiration  to  behold." 
For  the  wise  counsellor,  the  witty  courtier, 
the  dull  citizen,  or  the  duller  college  pedant, 
Elizabeth  had  ever  the  proper  answer  or  the 
ready  retort.  She  could  be  gracious  if  she 
chose  after  a  sore  infliction  of  the  inordi- 
nate length  and  preternatural  learning  of 
an  Elizabethan  sermon.  She  could  reply, 
with  many  graceful  womanish  qualms  as 
to  the  quality  of  her  Latinity,  in  a  carefully 

unprepared 


The  Queer? s  Progress 


unprepared  speech,  to  learned  addresses  by 
the  heads,  dons,  or  scholars  of  Oxford  or 
Cambridge.  She  could  frighten  her  Com- 
mons, in  language  fit  for  a  fishwife,  into 
the  obsequious  granting  of  her  subsidies 
against  their  will ;  arouse  by  her  eloquence 
the  untutored  train-bands  at  Tilbury  to  a 
frenzy  of  martial  ardor ;  or  cap  an  epigram 
which  a  saucy  courtier  had  scratched  on  the 
window-pane  for  her  Majesty's  eye.  Fond 
of  pleasure  and  display,  thirsty  for  praise 
that  might  be  interpreted  to  come  as  the 
unsought  tribute  of  her  beauty  or  accom- 
plishment as  a  woman,  Elizabeth  none  the 
less  maintained,  through  many  deviations 
and  some  vicissitude,  the  attitude  of  a 
queen,  beloved  by  her  people,  and  re- 
spected and  feared  abroad.  How  far  she 
was  merely  a  consummate  actress,  how  far  a 
woman,  weak  in  all  her  strength,  pathetic 
despite  her  queenly  station,  must  be  left  for 
each  to  decide  for  himself.  Certain  it  is 

that 


The  Queer? s  Progress 


7 


that  if  Elizabeth  was  an  actress,  she  had  the 
world  for  her  stage  and  marvelling  Christ- 
endom for  her  auditors. 

Like  her  father  before  her,  the  Queen 
was  an  enthusiastic  lover  of  pomp  and  dis- 
play. There  was  scarcely  an  action  of  her 
life  from  the  trifling  forms  of  the  daily 
routine  at  Court  to  the  dignified  ceremo- 
nials of  sovereignty  which  was  not  studied 
for  its  effect.  Hentzner,  a  contemporary 
German  traveller,  has  described  the  Queen's 
passage  through  the  presence  chamber  of 
her  palace  at  Greenwich  on  her  way  to 
morning  service  in  her  chapel.  Somewhat 
shortened,  his  words  run  :  — 

"  First  went  gentlemen,  barons,  earls, 
Knights  of  the  Garter,  all  richly  dressed 
and  bareheaded;  next  came  the  Chancellor, 
bearing  the  seals  in  a  red  silk  purse,  be- 
tween two,  one  of  which  carried  the  Royal 
sceptre,  the  other  the  sword  of  state,  in  a 
red  scabbard,  studded  with  golden  Jleurs  de 

Us, 


8 


The  Queen's  Progress 


Ks9  the  point  upwards :  next  came  the 
Queen,  very  majestic  ;  her  face  oblong,  fair, 
but  wrinkled ;  her  eyes  small,  yet  black 
and  pleasant;  her  nose  a  little  hooked;  her 
lips  narrow;  she  had  in  her  ears  two  pearls 
with  very  rich  drops ;  she  wore  false  hair, 
and  that  red;  upon  her  head  she  had  a 
small  crown ;  her  bosom  was  uncovered 
as  all  the  English  ladies  have  it  till  they 
marry,  and  she  had  on  a  necklace  of  ex- 
ceeding fine  jewels ;  her  hands  were  small, 
her  fingers  long,  and  her  stature  neither 
tall  nor  low ;  her  air  was  stately,  her  man- 
ner of  speaking  mild  and  obliging.  As  she 
went  along  in  all  this  state  and  magnifi- 
cence, she  spoke  very  graciously,  first  to 
one,  then  to  another,  whether  foreign  Min- 
isters or  those  who  attended  for  different 
reasons,  in  English,  French,  and  Italian ; 
for,  besides  being  well  skilled  in  Greek, 
Latin,  and  the  languages  I  have  mentioned, 
she  is  mistress  of  Spanish,  Scotch,  and 

Dutch. 


The  Queer? s  Progress 


Dutch.  Whoever  speaks  to  her,  it  is  kneel- 
ing ;  now  and  then  she  raises  some  with 
her  hand.  Wherever  she  turned  her  face,  as 
she  was  going  along,  everybody  fell  down 
on  their  knees.  The  ladies  of  the  Court 
followed  next  to  her,  very  handsome  and 
well-shaped,  and  for  the  most  part  dressed 
in  white.  She  was  guarded  on  each  side  by 
the  gentlemen  pensioners,  fifty  in  number, 
with  gilt  battle-axes.  In  the  ante-chapel 
next  the  hall  where  we  were,  petitions 
were  presented  to  her,  and  she  received 
them  most  graciously,  which  occasioned 
the  acclamation  of  'Long  live  Queen  Eliza- 
beth !  '  She  answered  it  with  '  I  thank  you, 
my  good  people.' ' 

It  was  amid  stately  and  ceremonious 
scenes  such  as  this  that  Elizabeth  drank  in 
the  adulation  so  dear  to  every  sovereign  and 
every  woman's  heart;  for  in  popular  accla- 
mation she  must  have  found  justification 
for  the  sinuousness  and  insincerity  of  a  polit- 
ical 


IO 


The  Queen* s  Progress 


ical  policy  which  could  not  but  have  preyed 
on  a  conscience  even  so  robust  as  her  own. 
It  was,  moreover,  in  the  midst  of  such 
scenes  that  she  found  a  solace  for  that 
loneliness  which  fate  and  her  royal  deter- 
mination had  decreed  for  her,  and  which 
ever  attended  her  greatness  like  its  shadow. 
Orations,  songs  and  poems  of  welcome 
and  farewell,  allegorical  groups,  arches, 
and  decorations,  processions,  plays,  morali- 
ties and  masques  were  Elizabeth's  delight, 
and  continued  such  to  the  end.  It  may  be 
surmised  that  far  more  of  the  success  of  the 
earlier  Elizabethan  drama  than  is  usually 
supposed  is  due  to  this  taste  of  the  Queen, 
which  offered  an  example  for  the  fash- 
ionable world  to  follow  and  afforded  an 
excuse  for  the  existence  of  theatrical  com- 
panies by  royal  or  other  patronage.  Of 
these  varied  amusements  the  "  progress " 
was  high  in  the  royal  favor.  It  combined 
several  distinct  advantages  :  amongst  them  a 

change 


The  Queen's  Progress 


1 1 


change  of  scene,  opportunity  for  the  dis- 
play of  loyalty  and  hospitality  on  the  part 
of  the  Queen's  host,  and,  counting  by  no 
means  least  in  the  estimation  of  her  prudent 
Majesty,  a  material  saving  in  her  house- 
hold budget.  Hence  it  was  that  Elizabeth 
was  wont  to  "  go  on  progress  "  in  the  sum- 
mer months,  to  sojourn  with  her  loving 
subjects  from  a  few  days  to  weeks ;  to  pass 
from  one  to  another,  visit  the  provincial 
towns  and  the  Universities,  and  enjoy  a 
surfeit  of  feasting,  adulation,  allegorical 
pageantry  and  entertainment.  According  to 
the  excellent  antiquarian,  John  Nichols, 
nearly  three  hundred  castles,  towns,  or 
country-seats  were  thus  visited  by  the  Queen 
and  her  Court,  and  some  hundred  and  sixty 
of  her  more  important  subjects  had  at  one 
time  or  another  submitted  to  the  glory  and 
the  charge  of  entertaining  a  royal  guest,  at 
times  to  their  permanent  impoverishment. 
To  none  of  the  progresses  of  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth 


12 


The  Queen's  Progress 


abeth  attaches  a  greater  interest  than  to 
that  during  which  she  spent  no  less  than 
nineteen  days  at  Kenilworth  Castle,  the 
guest  of  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester, 
in  July,  1575.  The  story  of  this  progress 
has  often  been  told  by  contemporaries,  by 
antiquarians,  and  lastly  and  definitively  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  has  used  the  extant 
historical  material  to  admirable  advantage 
in  his  transfer  of  these  brilliant  scenes  to  the 
delightful  pages  of  Kenilworth.  Leicester 
was  then  at  the  height  of  the  elaborate 
and  subtile  courtship  which  he  paid  to  his 
sovereign  through  several  years,  sanguine 
of  success,  and  eager  in  pursuit  of  the  most 
difficult  mistress  that  ever  bade  lover  hope 
only  to  play  with  his  despair.  It  required  no 
little  temerity  to  combine  the  role  of  sub- 
ject, lover  and  councillor  to  such  a  woman 
and  to  such  a  queen  ;  and  a  cleverer  man 
than  Leicester  might  well  have  been  in- 
volved in  the  royal  toils  that  were  cease- 
lessly 


The  Queen's  Progress  T3 


lessly  weaving  to  the  confusion,  perplexity, 
and  overreaching  of  foe  and  friend.  An  in- 
terest of  a  different  kind  has  been  assigned 
by  some  to  this  progress,  from  the  possibility 
that  the  boy  Shakespeare  may  have  been 
present  (as  was  the  greater  part  of  the  popu- 
lation of  Warwickshire  at  various  times), 
and  that  he  may  have  received  —  as  others 
have  been  bold  to  surmise — from  this  ear- 
liest contact  with  pageantry  and  stage-craft 
the  first  strong  impetus  towards  his  future 
career. 

In  the  absence  of  an  obsequious  daily 
press  to  chronicle  the  goings  and  comings  of 
royalty,  we  can  imagine  how  impatiently  the 
curious,  whose  station  in  life  forbade  attend- 
ance at  Court,  must  have  awaited  the  pam- 
phlet which  was  sure  to  appear  describing 
the  Queen's  last  progress.  Laneham's  Letter, 
Whearin  part  of  the  Entertainment  untoo  the 
^ueenz  Majesty  at  Killingworth  Castl  in  War- 
wik  Sheer  in  this  Soomerz  Progress  iz  signified, 

purports 


purports  to  be  no  more  than  a  private  mes- 
sage to  "hiz  freend  a  Citizen  and  Merchaunt 
of  London."  It  was,  however,  indubitably 
written  for  the  booksellers,  and  helped  to 
swell  the  comfortable  coffers  of  the  lively 
and  conceited  little  "  clark  "  whose  duties 
in  office  he  thus  describes  :  "  Now,  Sir,  if 
the  council  sits,  I  am  at  hand ;  wait  at  an 
inch,  I  warrant  you.  If  any  make  babling  : 
*  Peace,'  say  I,  '  wot  ye  where  ye  are  ? '  If 
I  take  a  listener  or  a  prier  in  at  the  chinks 
or  at  the  look-hole,  I  am  by  and  by  in  the 
bones  of  him.  If  a  be  a  friend  or  such  a 
one  as  I  like,  I  make  him  sit  down  by  me 
on  a  form  or  a  chest ;  let  the  rest  walk,  a 
God's  name." 

Laneham  had  the  maggots  of  phonetic 
spelling  in  his  brain,  as  the  title  of  his 
letter  just  given  sufficiently  shows.  They 
need  not  infect  us,  as  he  had  also  "  the 
power  adays  (while  the  council  sits  not)  to 
go  and  to  see  things  sightworthy  and  to  be 

present 


The  Queen's  Progress  15 


present  at  any  show  or  spectacle  anywhere 
this  progress  represented  unto  her  High- 
ness." 

The  entertainments  of  a  queen's  progress 
were  like  the  meals  of  the  day  —  very  sub- 
stantial affairs  and  of  almost  an  equal  va- 
riety. On  the  very  first  day  her  Majesty's 
power  of  endurance  was  thoroughly  put 
to  the  test.  Starting  at  noon  from  Isling- 
ton, a  town  some  miles  from  Kenilworth, 
and  hunting  by  the  way,  the  Queen  could 
scarcely  have  reached  the  privacy  of  her  own 
apartments  until  ten  o'clock  that  night.  Be- 
tween the  tilt-yard  where  she  arrived  about 
eight  and  the  door  of  the  castle  alone,  she 
ran  the  gauntlet  of  the  speeches,  music  and 
posturing  of  ten  sibyls,  sundry  porters,  six 
trumpeters,  Proteus,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
and  "  a  poet  in  a  long  ceruleus  garment" 
who  stopped  to  explain  —  we  may  be  sure 
with  all  the  leisure  of  poets — a  succession  of 
pillars  decorating  the  bridge  and  dedicated 

respectively 


i6 


The  Queer? s  Progress 


respectively  to  Sylvanus,  Pomona,  Ceres, 
Bacchus,  Mars,  and  Phoebus,  ending  with 
a  lengthy  Latin  inscription  crowning  the 
door  itself. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  all  that  princely 
expenditure  could  procure  and  inventive  in- 
genuity could  devise  was  lavished  to  produce 
novelty  after  novelty.  There  were  ridings 
and  hunting  attended  with  enchanted  music 
which  spake  out  of  trees  and  hedges  ;  unex- 
pected meetings  in  the  woods  with  fauns 
and  savage  men,  who  discoursed  elegant  al- 
legory ;  tilting  in  the  tilt-yard  and  graceful 
dancing  of  lords  and  ladies  in  the  presence. 
There  were  feats  of  agility,  mock  rights 
and  bear-baiting  by  day,  and  masques  in  the 
hall  and  fireworks  on  the  lake  at  night. 
These  last  made  a  deep  impression  upon 
Laneham,  who  records  how  "  the  Altito- 
nant  displays  me  his  main  power ;  with  a 
blaze  of  burning  darts,  flying  to  and  fro, 
gleams  of  stars  coruscant  and  hail  of  fiery 

sparks, 


The  Queer? s  Progress 


sparks,  lightnings  of  wildfire,  a-water  and 
land,  flight  and  shoot  of  thunder-bolts,  all 
with  such  continuance,  terror  and  vehe- 
mence, that  the  heavens  thundered,  the 
water  surged  and  the  earth  shook,  in  such 
sort  surely,  as  had  we  not  been  assured  the 
fulminant  deity  was  all  but  in  amity,  and 
could  not  otherwise  witness  his  welcoming 
unto  her  Highness,  it  would  have  made  me 
for  my  part,  as  hardy  as  I  am,  very  venge- 
ably  afeared." 

The  second  Sunday  of  the  Queen's  stay 
was  enlivened  with  a  rustic  "bride-ale,"  de- 
scribed by  the  dapper  little  clerk  of  the  coun- 
cil chamber  door  with  great  gusto  and  in 
much  the  mood  of  contemptuous  pleasan- 
try in  which  Shakespeare  treats  his  company 
of  "base  mechanicals"  in  A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream.  "  The  bridegroom  fore- 
most, in  his  father's  tawny  worsted  jacket, 
.  .  .  a  fair  strawn  hat  with  a  capital  crown, 
steeplewise  on  his  head  ;  a  pair  of  harvest 

gloves 


i8 


The  Queen's  Progress 


gloves  on  his  hands  as  a  sign  of  good  hus- 
bandry ;  a  pen  and  inkhorn  at  his  back,  for 
he  would  be  known  to  be  bookish;  lame  of 
a  leg  that  in  his  youth  was  broken  at  foot- 
ball :  well  beloved  yet  of  his  mother  that 
lent  him  a  new  muffler  for  a  napkin  that 
was  tied  to  his  girdle  for  [fear  of]  losing. 
.  .  .  Then  followed  his  worshipful  bride, 
led  (after  the  country  manner)  between  two 
ancient  parishioners, ...  a  thirty  year  old,  of 
color  brown-bay,  not  very  beautiful  indeed, 
yet  marvellously  fain  at  the  office  because 
she  heard  say  she  should  dance  before  the 
Queen.  .  .  .  After  this  bride,  came  there  two 
by  two  a  dozen  damsels  for  bride-maids, 
that  for  favor,  attire,  for  fashion  and  clean- 
liness were  as  meet  for  such  a  bride  as  a 
treen  ladle  for  a  porridge-pot."  Into  the  ex- 
aggerated misadventures  of  these  rustics  in 
their  running  at  quintain  and  their  morris- 
dancing  we  shall  not  follow  Laneham, 
whose  jocular  impertinence  is  that  of  a  man 

who 


The  Queer? s  Progress 


who  is  at  pains  to  create  the  impression 
that  he  has  never  been  nearer  to  these  com- 
mon folk  than  now. 

Following  the  "  bride-ale  "  was  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  Hock-tide  or  Hox  Tuesday 
play,  as  it  was  called,  by  men  come  over 
from  the  neighboring  town  of  Coventry. 
Coventry  had  been  famous  throughout  the 
Middle  Ages  for  its  pageantry ;  and  "  mira- 
cle" and  "morality"  had  flourished  there  as 
nowhere  else  in  England,  if  we  except  York 
and  possibly  London.  For  the  Hock-tide 
play  even  a  greater  antiquity  was  claimed, 
as  it  was  said  to  commemorate,  by  a  yearly 
mock-fight  with  accompanying  "rymez," 
the  overthrow  of  the  Danes  by  the  men 
of  Coventry  on  Saint  Brice's  Day,  1012. 
This  commemoration  is  known  to  have 
continued  from  the  year  after  the  battle 
of  Agincourt,  1416,  to  the  Queen's  visit 
to  Kenilworth,  on  which  latter  occasion  it 
was  repeated  at  Elizabeth's  request.  These 

last 


2O 


The  Queen's  Progress 


last  presentations  were  under  the  direction 
of  one  Captain  Cox,  "an  odd  man,  I  pro- 
mise you,"  says  Laneham,  "  by  profession 
a  mason  and  that  right  skilfull,  very  cun- 
ning in  fence,  and  hardy  as  Gawain ;  for  his 
long-sword  hangs  at  his  table's  end." 

We  shall  not  follow  our  cicerone  in  his 
account  of  "an  ambrosial  banquet,"  at 
which  the  number  of  dishes  was  three  hun- 
dred and  whereof  "  her  Majesty  eat  smally 
or  nothing,"  in  his  delight  over  "  a  swim- 
ming mermaid  that  from  top  to  tail  was 
an  eighteen  foot  long,"  or  into  the  intri- 
cacies of  the  speeches  which  Triton  made 
or  Arion  sang  in  behalf  of  their  master, 
"  the  supreme  salsipotent  monarch,  Nep- 
tune, prince  of  profundities  and  sovereign 
seignior  of  all  lakes."  From  another  source 
it  is  related  that  Arion,  having  upon  this 
occasion  contracted  a  hoarse  voice  from 
sitting  so  long  in  the  damp  on  his  dolphin, 
awaiting  the  coming  of  the  Queen,  he 

snatched 


The  Queen's  Progress 


2  I 


snatched  off  his  disguise  and  swore  "  that 
he  was  no  Arion  but  e'en  honest  Harry 
Goldingham,  who  would  sing  as  well  as  he 
could ;  whereat  the  Queen  was  exceeding 
delighted." 

But  if  the  festivities  contained  triumphs, 
there  were  disappointments  as  well.  "  Had 
her  Highness  happened  this  day  to  have 
comen  abroad,"  says  Laneham,  "  there  was 
made  ready  a  device  of  goddesses  and 
nymphs  which,  as  well  for  the  ingenious 
argument  as  for  the  well  handling  of  it 
in  rime  and  enditing,  would  undoubtedly 
have  gained  great  liking  and  moved  no 
less  delight."  This  device  was  an  elaborate 
piece  of  allegory  called  the  Masque  of  Za- 
beta,  the  work  of  the  notable  court  poet 
Gascoigne,  "  being  prepared  and  ready  — 
every  actor  in  his  garment  —  two  or  three 
days  together,  yet  never  came  to  execution. 
The  cause  whereof  I  cannot  attribute  to 
any  other  thing,"  says  the  author,  "  than 

to 


22  The  Queer? s  Progress 

to  a  lack  of  opportunity  and  seasonable 
weather."  Perhaps  there  was  another  rea- 
son, as  a  look  at  Zabeta,  which  its  author 
was  careful  to  have  published  in  the  next 
year  with  his  account  of  the  festivities  in 
general,  makes  plain.  The  chief  interlocu- 
tors of  this  masque  are  Diana  and  several 
of  her  nymphs,  Mercury,  Jove's  Messenger, 
and  Iris,  the  Messenger  of  Juno.  Diana  is 
deploring  the  loss  of  her  most  beloved 
nymph,  Zabeta,  and  sends  out  her  nymphs 
in  various  directions  to  look  for  her.  In  her 
lament  she  contrives  thus  to  describe  the 
lost  paragon  : 

My  sister  first,  which  Pallas  hath  to  name, 
Envyed  Zabeta  for  hyr  learned  brayne. 
My  sister  Venus  feared  Zabetaes  fame, 
Whose  gleames  of  grace  hyr  beuties  blase  dyd 

stayne  ; 

dpollo  dread  to  touch  an  Instrument, 
Where  my  Zabeta  chaunst  to  come  in  place  : 
Yea,  Mercuric  was  not  so  eloquent, 
Nor  in  his  words  had  halfe  so  good  a  grace. 

My 


Masque  of 


The  Queen's  Progress 


My  stepdame  Juno^  in  hyr  glyttering  guyse, 
Was  nothing  like  so  heavenlie  to  beholde : 
Short  tale  to  make,  Zabeta  was  the  wight, 
On  whom  to  thinke  my  heart  now  waxeth  cold. 

In  the  midst  of  her  lament,  Mercury  ar- 
rives from  Jove  to  explain  how  Zabeta  has 
become  a  great  queen,  who,  against  all  the 
wiles  of  Juno,  has  remained  "  in  constant 
vow  of  chaste  unspotted  life;"  whereupon 
Diana  and  her  train  kneel  in  obeisance  be- 
fore her  Majesty.  But  now  comes  the  gist 
of  the  matter ;  for,  Diana  and  "  Mercury 
being  departed,  Iris  cometh  down  from  the 
rainbow  sent  by  Juno," 

Who  crowned    first  your  comely   head  with    Princely 
Dyademes  ? 

persuading  the  Queen's  Majesty  that  she 
be  not  carried  away  "  with  Mercuries  filed 
speach,  nor  Dyanaes  faire  words,  but  that 
she  consider  all  things  by  proofe,  and  then 
shee  shall  finde  much  greater  cause  to  fol- 
io we  "Juno  then  Dyana." 

At 


24  The  Queer? s  Progress 

At  the  end  the  messenger  rises  to  pro- 
phecy of  unmistakable  import : 

Where  you  now  in  Princely  port 

have  past  one  pleasant  day, 
A  world  of  wealth  at  wil 

you  hencefoorth  shall  enjoy 
In  wedded  state,  and  therewithall 

holde  up  from  great  annoy 
The  staffe  of  your  estate ; 

O  Queene,  O  worthy  Queene, 
Yet  never  wight  felt  perfect  blis, 

but  such  as  wedded  beene. 

Possibly  considering  the  strength  of  all 
this  allegory  and  the  warmth  of  Iris's  mes- 
sage, an  intimation  that  her  Majesty  pre- 
ferred not  to  be  so  directly  courted  in 
similitudes  had  most  to  do  with  the  non- 
performance  of  Zabeta.  That  the  Queen 
should  have  been  permitted  long  to  remain 
in  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  this  masque, 
neither  the  assiduity  of  her  suitor  nor  the 
vanity  of  his  poet  could  have  brooked. 
The  progress  came  to  an  end  and,  contrary 

to 


The  Queen's  Progress  25 

to  the  expectations  and  the  fears  of  many, 
my  lord  of  Leicester  was  still  no  more  than 
my  lord  of  Leicester,  and  Elizabeth  had 
only  passed  through  another  flirtation,  one 
of  the  many  that  had  been  and  were  yet 
to  come. 


II 

AN  ELIZABETHAN  WILL 


II 


An  ELIZABETHAN  Will 

ON    the    twelfth    of   January,     1559, 
William  Breton  "  of  the  parryshe 
of  saynt  Gyles  w*out  creplegate  of 
London  gentilman"  departed  this  life  at  his 
"  capitall  mansion  house  in  Redcrostrete." 
William   Breton   was   the  younger   son    of 
an  excellent  and  ancient  family  settled  in 
various  midland  counties  of  England.     He 
had  come  up  to  London  in  youth,  and  en- 
gaged in  trade.    He  had  prospered,  as  his 
will  abundantly  proves;  and,  in  the  midst 
of  the   multifarious  popular    impulses   that 
struck   at    the    root   of  feudal   tenures   and 
unclasped   even  the   rigid  fingers  of  mort- 
main, 


29 


3°  An  Elizabethan  Will 


main,  Breton  had  contrived  to  become  a 
landed  proprietor  of  no  little  wealth  and 
importance  ;  nay,  some  of  the  hereditary 
lands  of  the  Bretons  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  this  younger  son  in  a  manner  cer- 
tainly other  than  that  of  inheritance.  We 
have  no  evidence  of  the  nature  of  the  ven- 
tures in  which  Breton  made  his  money,  and 
we  shall  not  seek  to  cloud  the  memory  of 
a  man  whose  large  testamentary  charities 
seem  to  betoken  a  kind  master  and  a  citi- 
zen thoughtful  of  the  needs  of  his  indigent 
neighbors. 

Despite  all  preconceptions  and  illusions, 
the  great  age  of  Elizabeth  was  hard,  liti- 
gious, bloody,  and  corrupt.  It  was  not  un- 
til the  next  reign  that  a  philosopher  and 
a  lord  chancellor  of  England  came  to  his 
fall  by  the  confessed  acceptance  of  a  bribe ; 
but  Edmund  Spenser,  the  gentlest  of  poets 
and  of  men,  helped  put  to  the  sword,  save 
for  a  few  officers,  a  band  of  surrendered 

Spanish 


An  Elizabethan  Will 


Spanish  invaders,  at  Smerwick  in  Ireland, 
and  the  famous  Sir  Thomas  Gresham  grew 
from  modest  proportions  to  the  greatest 
financier  and  money-lender  of  his  day  on 
his  travelling  expenses  and  twenty  shillings 
a  day,  a  miracle  which  brokerage  and  com- 
pound interest  alone  will  not  completely 
explain.  But  thin  partitions  did  divide 
merchant  adventure  from  piracy,  and  the 
arms  of  Sir  John  Hawkins,  "  a  demi-moor 
proper  bound  with  a  cord,"  were  acquired 
not  without  much  misery  and  suffering  to 
people  not  of  Sir  John's  race  or  color. 

In  such  a  state  of  society,  the  prospects 
of  a  clear  head  linked  with  not  too  scru- 
pulous a  conscience  were  boundless ;  and 
William  Breton's  was  not  the  only  case  in 
which  the  younger  son  came  in  time  to 
possess  the  paternal  acres  whilst  his  elder 
brother  pined  away  in  the  Fleet,  or  found 
his  Rl  Dorado  in  a  Spanish  dungeon. 

The  immediate  family  of  William  Breton 

consisted 


An  Elizabethan  Will 


consisted  of  his  wife  Elizabeth,  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  London  merchant  and,  apparently, 
considerably  her  husband's  junior,  two  sons, 
the  younger  of  whom  was  afterwards  to  be- 
come the  graceful  poet  Nicholas  Breton, 
and  three  daughters :  all  minors  at  their 
father's  death.  The  will  is  a  carefully  writ- 
ten document,  decked  out  with  the  flour- 
ishes and  proverbial  piety  of  the  age,  and 
offering  every  evidence,  from  its  inordinate 
length,  that  the  scrivener  was  still  paid  un- 
der statute  by  the  number  of  his  words. 
By  the  terms  of  this  document,  William 
Breton  devised  certain  tenements  in  Barby- 
can  and  Redcross  Street  to  his  wife  abso- 
lutely, gave  her  a  life  estate  in  his  "  key 
and  wharffe  called  Dyse,"  and  bequeathed 
her  "tenne  kyen "  on  his  farm  at  Wal- 
thamstow  in  Essex,  one  hundred  pounds 
in  money,  half  his  "  playt,"  her  jewels, 
apparel,  and  many  other  articles.  He  also 
made  her  the  guardian  of  the  children. 

Beside 


An  Elizabethan  Will 


33 


Beside  many  special  bequests  to  each,  the 
elder  son  received  ten  tenements  in  Lon- 
don of  a  considerable  yearly  rental,  while 
the  younger  was  granted  the  two  manors 
of  Burgh  in  Lincoln  and  Wykes  in  Essex. 
Among  many  other  bequests,  each  daughter 
was  to  receive  a  marriage  portion  of  two 
hundred  marks  (upwards  of  eight  hundred 
pounds  in  present  value),  and  no  less  than  a 
thousand  pounds  were  distributed  in  lega- 
cies to  servants  and  in  alms  to  the  poor. 

Let  us  reconstruct  to  imagination's  in- 
ward eye  the  home  in  Redcross  Street,  its 
retinue  of  family  servants,  its  garniture  of 
family  plate,  jewels,  gilt  bedsteads,  velvet 
and  satin  hangings.  Stow  tells  us  that  "  in 
Redcross  Street  on  the  west  side  from  Saint 
Giles  Churchyard,  be  many  faire  houses 
builded  outward,  with  divers  allies,  turning 
into  a  large  plot  of  ground,  of  old  time 
called  the  Jewes  Garden,  as  being  the  onely 
place  appointed  them  in  England  wherein 

to 


34 


An  Elizabethan  Will 


to  bury  their  dead.  This  plot  of  ground 
...  is  now  turned  into  faire  garden  plots 
and  summer  houses  for  pleasure."  We  may 
imagine  the  garden  of  William  Breton  as 
not  so  large  indeed  or  so  ambitious  as  that 
my  lord  of  St.  Albans  set  forth  so  deli- 
ciously  in  his  Rssayes  or  Counsells  Civill  and 
Morall^  and  yet  not  wanting  in  rosemary 
and  sweet  marjoram,  briar,  stock  and  gilly- 
flowers, "  having  a  faire  allie  in  the  midst, 
ranged  on  both  sides  with  fruit  trees,  that 
you  may  goe  in  shade,"  and  prim  with 
"  images  cut  out  in  juniper  or  other  garden 
stuff."  Perhaps  our  worthy  merchant  was 
not  above  more  practical  gardening,  and 
planted  "melons,  pompions,  gourds,  skirets, 
turneps  and  all  kinds  of  salad  herbes;"  or, 
much  to  that  worthy's  disgust,  set  his  hon- 
est gardener,  King,  to  the  care  of  rare  and 
curious  foreign  plants  and  "simples,"  "for 
delectation  sake  unto  the  eie  and  their  odor- 
iferous savours  unto  the  nose." 

We 


An  Elizabethan  Will  35 


We  can  scarcely  suppose  our  "  capitall 
mansion"  to  have  been  constructed  of  any- 
thing better  than  wood,  with  clay  or  plaster 
outer  panels  of  red  or  white.  There  were 
two  or  three  stories,  a  low  roof  covered  with 
thatch  or  perhaps  tile,  and  windows  of 
lattice  and  small  diamond  panes  of  Flem- 
ish glass.  It  is  likely  that  all  the  outbuild- 
ings to  the  brew-house  and  mews  were 
under  one  roof,  and,  considering  the  date, 
the  luxury  of  a  chimney  may  perhaps  be 
doubted.  "  Within,"  as  Lemnius,  a  con- 
temporary Dutch  physician,  informs  us,  "all 
was  strawed  with  sweet  herbes  and  rushes. 
.  .  .  Their  nosegays,  finely  entermingled 
wyth  sondrie  sortes  of  fragraunte  flowres 
in  their  bed-chambers  and  inner  rooms, 
with  comfortable  smell  cheered  mee  up 
and  entyrely  delighted  all  my  sences." 

Furniture  was  scant,  and,  besides  a  few 
chairs,  and  tables  of  common  wood  but 
spread  with  "  fine  naperie,"  consisted 

chiefly 


An  Elizabethan  Will 


chiefly  of  the  standing  and  truckle  beds, 
the  garniture  of  each  sleeping  room,  and 
of  a  large  number  of  ornamental  cupboards 
and  chests,  elevated  on  feet,  of  "sweet,  rare, 
carven  work,"  strengthened  with  wrought- 
iron  bands  and  fastenings.  The  pantry  was 
better  equipped,  and  here  might  be  seen 
abundance  of  bright  pewter  platters,  tank- 
ards, fine  linen,  and  possibly  even  some  sil- 
ver and  Venetian  glass.  All  the  better  rooms 
were  hung  with  tapestry  or  "  arras  of  Tur- 
key work,"  displaying  some  classical  or  bib- 
lical story ;  or,  perhaps  in  the  merchant's 
household,  made  of  but  "  right  painted 
cloth,"  depicting  such  bits  of  worldly  wis- 
dom as  "  Beware  the  mouse,  the  maggot 
and  the  moth,"  or  "  Light  gaines  make 
heavy  purses,"  and  hanging  sufficiently  far 
from  the  wall  to  protect  from  damp  and 
afford  some  eavesdropping  city  Polonius  a 
hiding-place.  With  Shakespeare's  Gremio 
might  Breton  exclaim  : 

My 


An  Elizabethan  Will  37 


My  house  within  the  city 
Is  richly  furnished  with  plate  and  gold ; 
Basins  and  ewers  ;   .   .   . 
My  hangings  all  of  Tyrian  tapestry ; 
In  ivory  coffers  have  I  stuff 'd  my  crowns ; 
In  cypress  chests  my  arras  counterpoints, 
Costly  apparel,  tents,  and  canopies, 
Fine  linen,  Turkey  cushions  boss'd  with  pearl, 
Valance  of  Venice  gold  in  needlework, 
Pewter  and  brass  and  all  things  that  belong 
To  house  or  house-keeping. 

The  larder  too  was  well  supplied,  for  "  our 
bodies  doe  crave  a  little  more  ample  nour- 
ishment than  the  inhabitants  of  the  hotter 
regions  are  accustomed  withal,"  says  Harri- 
son. While  it  is  likely  that  our  excellent 
merchant  had  not  yet  become  so  infected 
with  foreign  customs  as  to  employ  "  musi- 
call-headed  Frenchmen  and  strangers  "  as 
his  cooks,  he  none  the  less  indulged  in  "  not 
onely  beefe,  mutton,  veale,  lambe,kid,  porke, 
conie,  capon,  pig  or  so  manie  of  these  as 
the  season  yieldeth,  but  also  some  portion 

of 


t,  "V*N  t  v>j»»kjir>  *~* 

2V0785 


An  Elizabethan  Will 


of  the  red  or  fallow  deere,  beside  great  va- 
rietie  of  fish  and  wild  foule,  and  thereunto 
other  delicates  wherein  the  sweet  hand  of 
the  Portingale  is  not  wanting."  In  seasons 
of  entertainment  too  there  were  "geliffes  of 
all  colours  mixed  with  a  varietie  in  represen- 
tation of  sundrie  floures,  beastes,  foules  and 
fruits,  and  thereunto  marchpanes  wrought 
with  no  small  curiositie,  marmilats,  codinacs 
and  sundrie  outlandish  confections."  In  the 
case  before  us,  the  "tenne  kyen  "  at  Wal- 
thamstow,  willed  to  Elizabeth  Breton,  sug- 
gest rural  plenty,  and  doubtless  more  than 
one  family  servant  was  employed  to  con- 
vey game  and  poultry  from  the  Essex  farm 
to  Redcross  Street  or  in  the  exchange  of 
courtesies  with  kinsfolk  or  neighbors. 

It  was  on  his  wines,  however,  that  the 
merchant  chiefly  prided  himself;  and  no 
less  than  fifty-six  kinds  of  light  wines  and 
thirty  of  strong  (from  FalstafPs  "  excellent 
sherris"  to  the  "small  wines"  of  Gascony) 

are 


An  Elizabethan  Will  39 


are  "accompted  of  bicause  of  their  strength 
and  valure."  For  every-day  use  the  national 
drink  was  beer,  made  in  monthly  brewings 
by  each  matron  and  her  maids,  and  varying 
in  strength  and  excellence  with  the  state 
and  purse  of  the  family. 

We  may  picture  to  ourselves  a  wholesome 
and  decorous  family  life,  in  which  piety  and 
thrift  stood  for  the  chiefest  household  gods. 
It  speaks  not  a  little  for  the  trust  which 
the  old  merchant  reposed  in  his  young  wife, 
that  we  find  him  providing  that  the  lega- 
cies to  his  daughters  shall  become  void  if 
either  should  marry  without  her  mother's 
consent. 

Unfortunately  this  trust  seems  not  to  have 
been  very  wisely  bestowed.  For  some  few 
years  after  her  husband's  death,  Elizabeth 
Breton  took  to  herself  a  new  spouse  in  the 
person  of  Master  George  Gascoigne.  The 
marriage  was  purely  a  matter  of  conven- 
ience. Gascoigne  was  handsome,  dashing, 

well- 


40  An  Elizabethan  Will 

well-born,  and  penniless ;  he  had  been  by 
turns  a  student,  a  courtier,  and  a  man  about 
town.  Of  late,  he  had  gained  a  pretty  repu- 
tation as  a  poet.  It  was  even  whispered  — 
and  what  could  be  a  stronger  recommenda- 
tion to  the  young  city  widow  —  that  his 
name  had  been  coupled  in  gossip  at  Court 
with  the  names  of  certain  high-born  ladies. 
At  all  events,  in  the  bulky  budget  of  the 
courtier's  love  poems,  no  sonnet  can  be 
found  addressed  to  Elizabeth  Breton.  The 
citizen's  young  widow,  comfortably  en- 
sconced in  her  "capitall  mansion  house  in 
Redcrostrete,"  with  the  rents  of  a  score  of 
tenements  and  farms,  was  a  tempting  bait 
to  the  impoverished  courtier  with  his  re- 
cent experiences  of  a  debtors'  prison.  Her 
children  could  offer  no  resistance,  and  the 
executors  might  prove  not  unmanageable. 
Possibly  in  view  of  the  doubt  cast  on  her 
first  husband's  gentility  through  his  engag- 
ing in  trade,  the  young  widowT  was  equally 

prone 


An  Elizabethan  Will  41 

prone  to  the  alliance,  as  it  was  one  with  a 
veritable  gentleman,  whose  hands  at  least 
had  never  been  sullied  with  the  getting, 
much  less  with  the  keeping  of  gold. 

From  the  Diary  of  a  Resident  of  London, 
under  date  of  September,  1562,  we  glean 
the  following :  "  The  sam  day  at  nyght 
betwyn  viii  and  ix  was  a  grett  fray  in  Red- 
crossestret  betwyn  ii  gentyllmen  and  ther 
men,  for  they  dyd  both  mare  [arrange  to 
marry]  one  woman,  and  dyvers  wher  hurtt ; 
thes  wher  there  names,  Master  Boysse 
[Bowes]  and  Master  Gaskyn  [Gascoigne] 
gentyllmen."  There  is  no  proof  of  the 
identity  of  the  poet  with  this  Gascoigne, 
or  of  the  widow  Breton  with  the  cause  of 
this  brawl.  But  aside  from  the  fact  that 
the  "  resident's  "  orthography  will  warrant 
any  assumption,  the  time,  the  place,  the 
characters  and  status  of  both  parties  make 
the  supposition  of  identity  colorable,  and 
afford  us  a  vivid  illustration  of  the  manners 

of 


42 


An  Elizabethan  Will 


of  the  day,  in  which  the  hot  blood  that 
prompts  to  immediate  personal  encounter 
had  not  yet  been  cooled  by  the  diabolic 
etiquette  of  the  modern  duel.  Surely  we 
can  forgive  the  infatuation  of  the  excellent 
city  matron — if  infatuation  there  really  was 
—  when  so  handsome  and  so  well-born  a 
gallant  came  from  Westminster  to  pay  her 
honorable  court  and  ventured  his  life  in 
defence  of  her  honor. 

Two  years  after  the  solemnization  of  this 
marriage,  a  jury  at  Guildhall  entered  into 
an  enquiry  before  the  Lord  Mayor,  the  ap- 
parent object  of  which  was  the  protection 
of  William  Breton's  property  against  his 
widow  and  her  new  husband.  We  do  not 
know  what  became  of  this  suit.  Perhaps  it 
was  amicably  settled. 

Too  much  is  not  to  be  expected  from 
such  a  marriage;  though  there  is  little  ex- 
cept its  social  disparity  to  guide  conjecture. 
Elizabeth  probably  lived  at  Walthamstow, 

save 


An  Elizabethan  Will  43 

save  for  an  occasional  jaunt  to  town  or  visit 
among  her  city  kinsfolk.  Gascoigne,  when 
not  abroad  in  the  wars  or  dancing  attend- 
ance on  the  royal  progresses,  was  busy  with 
quill  and  inkhorn  inditing  sonnets  to  the 
Queen's  ladies-in-waiting  or  concocting  the 
bitter  moral  reflections  and  apothegms  of 
the  Sfee/e  Glas  in  an  agony  of  repentance  at 
the  time  of  his  "  youth  misspent."  Eliza- 
beth's kinsfolk  called  her  "Madam;  "  and, 
on  passing  her  in  the  street,  gave  her  the 
wall ;  the  poet  thenceforth  at  least  escaped 
the  debtors'  jail  and  influenced  his  younger 
stepson,  Nicholas  Breton,  to  a  gentlemanly 
literary  career. 

Soon  after,  Gascoigne  went  abroad  as  an 
adventurer  in  the  Dutch  wars,  whither  we 
need  not  follow  him.  As  to  Elizabeth  Gas- 
coigne, we  are  at  perfect  liberty.  She  may 
have  been  an  English  Xantippe  for  aught 
we  know,  driving  a  not  very  philosophical 
Socrates  into  unmerited  exile.  Quite  as  pos- 
sibly 


44  An  Elizabethan  Will 

sibly  she  may  have  been  a  very  Penelope, 
dwelling  meekly  on  her  farm  with  her  five 
children  and  besought  in  marriage  for  her 
"  tenne  kyen  "  by  every  eligible  suitor  in 
Essex.  In  either  case  her  Ulysses  returned, 
not  without  some  damage  at  the  hands  of 
the  sirens,  and  we  find  him  restored  to 
court  favor,  writing  much  repentant  prose, 
and  residing  at  Walthamstow  till  within  a 
short  time  before  his  death. 

We  have  thus  before  us  three  types  of 
Elizabethan  life,  all  represented  with  cease- 
less iteration  and  variety  in  the  comedies 
of  the  age.  The  rakish,  well-born  spend- 
thrift has  been  a  stock  hero  of  the  stage, 
time  out  of  mind.  The  Elizabethan  variety, 
however,  claims  a  distinction  that  raises 
him  out  of  the  common  category  of  the 
Aimwells  and  Charles  Surfaces  to  a  position 
of  his  own.  There  is  a  na'ivefe  about  the 
sinning  of  the  Elizabethan  scapegrace  that 
almost  justifies  palliation.  He  is  often  very 

naughty, 


An  Elizabethan  Will  45 


naughty,  but  then  he  always  cries  peccavi, 
and  his  after-qualms  of  conscience  are  some- 
times ludicrously  at  variance  with  the  real 
magnitude  of  his  offences. 

Scarcely  less  familiar  is  the  figure  of  the 
city  maid  or  widow,  her  head  full  of  the 
romances  of  a  grand  alliance,  who  delights 
to  exclaim  :  "  Though  my  father  be  a  low- 
capped  tradesman,  yet  I  must  be  a  lady ; 
and  I  praise  God  my  mother  must  call 
me  Madam."  The  widow  Breton  was  less 
unfortunate  than  one  of  these  infatuates, 
who,  having  first  signed  away  her  settle- 
ment, drove  off  to  the  country  in  search  of 
her  husband's  castle  and  an  estate  which 
with  its  appurtenances  existed  only  in  that 
worthy's  fertile  imagination.  It  is  consol- 
ing to  know  that  an  even-handed  play- 
wright meted  out  poetical  Nemesis  to  this 
wretch.  He  started  on  a  voyage  to  Virginia 
with  his  ill-gotten  wealth,  but,  wrecked  in- 
gloriously  on  the  Isle  of  Dogs,  was  incon- 
tinently 


An  Elizabethan  Will 


tinently  seized  and  clapped  into  jail  by  the 
bailies. 

Lastly,  Touchstone,  the  goldsmith  of 
Eastward  Hoe !  is  William  Breton  with  a 
larger  infusion  of  the  bourgeois ;  Eyre  of 
*The  Shoemakers  Holiday  represents  the  more 
jovial  and  homely  character  of  a  trades- 
man who  has  raised  himself  from  the  low- 
est round  of  the  ladder  by  sheer  mother 
wit.  Bassanio's  Antonio  himself,  whose  no- 
ble want  of  the  tradesman's  knack  shows 
him  a  merchant  made,  not  born,  is  again  a 
deviation  to  a  higher  class,  the  merchant 
adventurer.  In  all,  the  type  consists  of  the 
sturdy,  unimaginative  Englishman,  with  an 
innate  proclivity  for  money-getting,  and 
his  chief  joy  in  his  reputation  for  rectitude, 
his  home,  and  the  substantial  comforts  of 
life.  The  Elizabethan  merchant  was  not 
essentially  different  from  the  English  mer- 
chant of  to-day,  save  that  he  indulged  when 
he  could  in  the  slave-trade  and  displayed  a 

decided 


An  Elizabethan  Will  47 


decided  penchant  for  piracy  on  the  high 
seas.  Shifting  social  conditions,  ineffectu- 
ally stringent  laws  against  usury,  and  the 
pernicious  royal  grants  of  monopoly  go  far 
to  explain  the  fact  that,  amongst  the  Eliza- 
bethans, Mercury  was  still  the  tutelary  god 
of  merchants  and  of  thieves  ;  while  the 
fervid  Puritanism  that  devoutly  believed  it 
a  service  to  God  to  spoil  the  tents  of  the 
children  of  Abimelech,  together  with  the 
spirit  of  retaliation  which  the  horrors  of 
the  Inquisition  righteously  inspired,  is  am- 
ply sufficient  to  transmute  those  larger  ad- 
venturers, the  Grenvilles  and  the  Gilberts, 
the  Hawkinses  and  the  Drakes,  from  the 
gross  metal  of  buccaneers  into  the  gold  of 
heroes. 


Ill 


srucLEr 

GENTLEMAN  ADVENTURER 


III 


T 


*  •  *%HE  sixteenth  century  was  the  hey- 
day of  the  adventurer.  He  infested 
every  station  of  life,  hectoring  like 
Bobadil,  resorting  with  needy  gallants  to 
Paul's  Walk,  the  centre  aisle  of  the  cathe- 
dral, there  to  pick  up  the  news  of  the  day 
and  perchance  an  acquaintance  whose  well- 
lined  purse  might  discharge  the  expense  of 
an  "  ordinary,"  the  Elizabethan  table  d'hote, 
for  both  ;  now  pressing  into  the  presence, 
or  attending  at  the  very  door  of  the  privy 
council,  with  secret  information  treacher- 
ously gleaned  and  a  sword  and  a  lying 

tongue 


S2  Thomas  Stucley 

tongue  for  sale  to  the  highest  bidder.  The 
air  was  full  of  projects,  from  Dr.  Dee's 
plan  to  transmute  pewter  platters  and  ale 
tankards  into  gold  to  the  capture  of  Span- 
ish galleons  laden  with  treasure  and  the 
founding  of  enduring  empires  beyond  the 
seas.  The  Queen  herself  was  a  sharer  in 
many  a  venture  of  trade  and  some  of 
plunder  ;  and  the  protection  which  many  a 
red-handed  marauder  of  the  sea  received 
from  her  Majesty  was  the  mingled  product 
of  the  royal  admiration  for  his  prowess  and 
daring  and  an  eager  desire  to  participate  in 
the  spoils.  Prentices  standing  on  the  cob- 
ble-stones of  inn-yards  craned  their  necks 
in  the  crowd  to  see  rude  theatrical  repre- 
sentations of  Whittington  who,  by  his  cat 
and  the  favor  of  the  Emperor  of  Morocco, 
had  risen  to  the  acme  of  civic  ambition, 
the  lord  mayoralty  of  the  City  of  London. 
Rude  scenes  of  noise  and  turmoil  displayed 
the  adventures  of  those  four  famous  English 

prentices, 


Gentleman  Adventurer  53 


prentices,  "sons  of  the  old  Earl  of  Bulloign," 
who  after  surmounting  untold  perils  meet 
their  father  at  the  siege  of  Jerusalem  and 
obtain,  each  of  them,  by  the  capture  of  the 
sacred  city,  a  royal  crown  and  a  princely 
bride.  Indeed  the  imaginations  of  poets 
scarcely  exceed  the  actual  experiences  of 
many  Englishmen  at  home  and  abroad,  — 
their  sailings  on  strange  seas,  their  traversing 
of  stranger  lands,  their  hardships  and  perils, 
their  encounters  and  hairbreadth  escapes. 

Amongst  the  host  of  Elizabethan  adven- 
turers there  was  none  more  daring,  more 
unscrupulous,  and  more  uniformly  success- 
ful than  Thomas  Stucley,  whom  the  Pope 
and  the  Spanish  King  afterwards  dignified 
with  the  title  "  Duke  of  Ireland."  Stucley 
was  the  third  son  of  a  small  baronet  of  Dev- 
onshire, the  county  that  gave  to  England 
Raleigh,  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  Hawkins, 
and  so  many  other  "  brave  navigators." 
Stucley's  education  in  war  —  he  seems  to 

have 


54 


Thomas  Stucley 


have  had  little  other  education  —  dates 
back  to  the  last  years  of  the  reign  of  Henry 
the  Eighth,  under  the  Duke  of  Suffolk. 
Later,  Stucley  figures  as  one  of  the  retainers 
of  the  Protector  Somerset,  in  the  failure  of 
whose  plans  he  was  too  deeply  compromised 
to  remain  in  England.  He  offered  his  ser- 
vices to  Henry  the  Second  of  France,  who 
shortly  became  so  attached  to  the  young 
Englishman  that  he  designated  him  in  a 
letter  to  King  Edward,  "  our  very  dear  and 
beloved  son,  brother,  cousin,  gossip  and 
ally,"  and  besought  the  English  King  to 
take  Stucley  back  into  his  royal  favor.  The 
warmth  of  this  recommendation  is  explained 
by  the  fact  that  Stucley  was  really  a  spy  in 
the  pay  of  France.  With  the  thrift  of  his 
kind,  he  soon  turned  his  equivocal  position 
to  advantage  on  both  sides  and  maintained 
himself  in  a  nicely  adjusted  equilibrium,  at 
once  a  servant  of  the  King  of  France  and 
the  loyal  subject  of  Edward  of  England. 

This 


Gentleman  Adventurer  55 


This  could  not  last,  and  before  long  Stucley 
found  himself  lodged  in  the  Tower  for  re- 
porting of  the  French  King  what  the  French 
King  could  never  allow  that  he  could  pos- 
sibly have  said.  From  the  Tower  Stucley 
was  delivered  by  the  accession  of  Queen 
Mary. 

Into  the  checkered  career  of  Stucley  for 
the  next  few  years  we  need  not  pry.  On  the 
personal  recommendation  of  Queen  Mary 
he  was  received  into  the  service  of  the 
Emperor.  About  this  time  Stucley  is  de- 
scribed as  "  commonly  pretending  himself 
to  be  a  man  of  value  and  livelihood,  when 
in  truth  he  never  had  in  his  own  right 
one  foot  of  land,  [but  lived  by]  borrow- 
ing in  every  place  and  paying  nowhere." 
Color  is  lent  this,  though  the  statement 
of  an  enemy,  by  the  fact  that,  wishing  to 
return  to  England  in  the  train  of  the  Duke 
of  Saxony,  Stucley  wrote  to  the  Queen  be- 
seeching that  he  might  be  "  exempted  from 

all 


5  6  "Thomas  Stucley 

all  danger  and  arrest  by  reason  of  my  debts  : " 
a  favor  which  he  seems  to  have  obtained. 
Like  most  spendthrifts,  Stucley  was  gener- 
ous with  money  and  was  always  a  popular 
captain  and  master.  He  is  reported  to  have 
gained  the  love  of  his  followers  by  bounti- 
ful largesses,  and  he  did  not  forget  his  kin 
in  the  days  of  his  good  fortune.  No  pro- 
ject was  too  great  or  too  mad  for  his  under- 
taking, and  his  genuine  knowledge  of  war, 
his  success  in  the  management  of  men,  his 
daring  and  true  bravery  in  action,  raised 
him  into  heroic  stature  on  the  field  of 
battle  or  in  the  intricacies  of  a  campaign. 
Stucley  was  not  only  a  spendthrift  and  a 
soldier  of  fortune,  he  was  likewise  a  most 
egregious  braggart,  boasting  of  his  large 
estate,  of  his  intimacy  with  princes,  his  own 
prowess,  his  magnificence.  It  must  have 
been  a  sight  long  to  be  remembered  to  see 
Stucley  ruffling  it  at  Court  with  a  gorgeous 
retinue,  sufficient  in  number  and  costliness 

of 


Gentleman  Adventurer 


57 


of  attire  to  wait  upon  an  earl.  His  arrogance 
was  such  that,  taken  with  his  notorious 
dare-devil  courage,  few  men  cared  to  cross 
his  path.  A  characteristic  story  is  related  of 
Stucley,  come  to  take  leave  of  the  Queen  on 
the  eve  of  his  departure  on  an  expedition 
the  object  of  which  was  a  much  vaunted 
conquest  of  Florida.  Rallying  him  on  his 
grand  manners  and  great  importance,  her 
Majesty  finally  "  demanded  him  pleasantly 
whether  he  would  remember  her  when 
settled  in  his  kingdom.  '  Yes,'  saith  he, 
*  and  write  unto  you  also.'  '  And  what  style 
wilt  thou  use?'  'To  my  loving  sister,  as 
one  prince  writes  unto  another,'"  was  the 
ready  retort. 

This  story,  with  the  remarkable  freedom 
of  Stucley's  intercourse  with  princes,  their 
evident  consideration  of  him,  and  the  many 
favors  which  he  seems  only  to  have  had  to 
ask  to  receive  at  their  hands,  led  to  the  sur- 
mise that  Stucley  may  have  been  related 

to 


58  "Thomas  Stucley 

to  Henry  the  Eighth,  as  Falconbridge  was 
related  to  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion  in  Shake- 
speare's King  John.  The  mere  rumor  of 
such  a  thing  would  account  for  Stucley's 
welcome  to  foreign  courts,  his  arrogance 
and  his  popularity.  It  is  but  fair  to  state, 
however,  that,  swaggerer  and  braggart  that 
Stucley  was,  he  never  claimed  royal  blood, 
nor  did  his  enemies  ever  attaint  his  birth. 
Before  he  was  cold  in  his  grave  he  had 
become  one  of  the  heroes  of  popular  folk- 
lore, celebrated  in  ballads  and  represented 
on  the  stage.  Whence  it  happens  that  many 
of  the  facts  of  his  life  have  been  grossly 
distorted  by  a  kind  of  romantic  refraction. 

Amongst  the  various  means  which  Stuc- 
ley practised  to  recoup  his  periodically 
battered  fortunes  was  the  usual  one  of  a 
rich  marriage.  His  enemies  reported  that 
he  made  more  than  one  such,  and  we 
learn  that,  in  accord  with  the  businesslike 
methods  which  attended  the  arrangement 

of 


Gentleman  Adventurer 


59 


of  such  matters  in  his  age,  Stucley  appears 
more  than  once  a  party  to  such  negotia- 
tions. When  well  on  in  his  career  he  con- 
trived to  marry  the  young  granddaughter 
and  heiress  of  Alderman  Sir  Thomas  Curtis. 
"  By  this  marriage,"  we  are  told,  "  he  got 
so  good  an  estate  as  might  have  qualified  a 
moderate  mind  to  have  lived  bountifully 
and  in  great  esteem,  equal  to  the  chief  of 
his  house."  As  it  was,  the  unhappy  girl's 
fortune  was  dissipated  in  a  few  months. 
The  anonymous  author  of  the  play  entitled 
Sir  Thomas  Stucley  makes  this  marriage  the 
starting-point  of  the  adventures  of  his  hero, 
and  gives  us  a  clear  presentation  of  a  de- 
termined and  infatuated  girl  overcoming 
the  reluctance  of  her  prudent  parents  to 
yield  a  consent  to  her  marriage  with  a 
young  gallant  whom  they  distrust  but  can 
learn  little  about.  Married,  and  his  wife's 
dower  and  jewels  in  his  hands,  the  Stuc- 
ley of  the  play  in  a  capital  scene  pays  his 

thronging, 


6o 


Thomas  Stucley 


thronging,  cringing  creditors,  equips  a 
company  of  soldiers  for  his  sovereign's  ser- 
vice, and  declares  to  his  weeping  wife  : 

It  is  not  chambering, 
Now  I  have  beauty  to  be  dallying  with, 
Nor  pampering  of  myself,  .   .   . 
Now  I  have  got  a  little  worldly  pelf, 
That  is  the  end  or  levels  of  my  thought. 
I  must  have  honor;  honor  is  the  thing 
Stucley  doth  thirst  for,  and  to  climb  the  mount 
Where  she  is  seated ;  gold  shall  be  my  footstool. 

The  connection  of  these  events  belongs 
to  the  higher  logic  which  dominates  the 
doings  of  the  drama.  As  to  their  actual 
sequence  we  have  no  knowledge,  so  intri- 
cate and  so  interwoven  were  all  the  projects 
and  doings  of  this  active  and  enterprising 
adventurer.  Stucley  appears  to  have  been 
one  of  the  first  who  succeeded  in  gaining 
Queen  Elizabeth's  participancy  in  the  pro- 
fitable trade  of  buccaneering.  It  was  as 
early  as  1563  that  he  formed  the  design  of 

peopling 


Gentleman  Adventurer  61 


peopling  Florida.  "  Stucley  [was  one]," 
says  Fuller,  "  whose  spirit  was  of  so  high  a 
strain  that  it  vilified  subjection  (though  in 
the  highest  and  chiefest  degree)  as  con- 
temptible, aiming  as  high  as  the  moon,  at 
not  less  than  sovereignty." 

On  the  high  seas  with  "  five  good  ships 
and  a  pinnace,  with  2000  weight  of  corn- 
powder,  and  100  curriers  .  .  .  besides  artil- 
lery to  the  value  of  ^"120,"  Stucley  forgot 
all  about  Florida  and  spent  his  time,  much 
to  his  content,  in  preying  upon  French  and 
Spanish  commerce,  although  England  was 
at  the  moment  ostensibly  at  peace  with 
both  countries.  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner,  Eliz- 
abeth's ambassador,  wrote  to  Cecil  from 
Madrid:  "Stucley's  piracies  are  much  railed 
at  here  on  all  parts.  I  hang  down  my  head 
with  shame  enough.  Alas,  though  it  cost 
the  Queen  roundly,  let  him  for  honor's 
sake  be  fetched  in.  These  pardons  to  such 
folks  as  be  hostes  humanl  generis  I  like  not." 

Whether 


62  Thomas  Stucley 

Whether  it  was  "  for  honor's  sake,"  or  be- 
cause the  royal  share  in  the  profits  was  not 
sufficiently  large,  Elizabeth  gave  Sir  Peter 
Carew,  one  of  Stucley's  numerous  cousins, 
a  commission  to  apprehend  all  pirates  in 
the  Irish  seas.  Sir  Peter  found  one  hulk  of 
Stucley's  in  Cork  harbor,  and  confiscated  it. 
He  also  managed  a  little  skirmish  with  a 
party  of  pirates  who  had  fortified  themselves 
in  a  castle,  but  was  repulsed.  Stucley  having 
arranged  to  have  his  latest  victim,  a  Flem- 
ish merchant,  affirm  before  the  mayor  of 
Kinsale  that  "  he  had  compounded  frankly 
and  freely  with  Stucley,  without  any  com- 
pulsion or  fear,"  that  gentleman  was  not 
further  molested,  though  he  never  suc- 
ceeded thereafter  in  regaining  the  favor 
of  his  Queen.  Perhaps  Stucley's  promises 
were  in  too  great  disparity  contrasted  with 
his  achievements.  A  compassionate  regard 
for  failure  was  not  amongst  the  virtues 
of  Elizabeth  ;  and  Stucley,  judged  by  the 

later 


Gentleman  Adventurer 


later  golden  standards  of  Hawkins  and 
Drake,  was  for  the  nonce  an  unsuccessful 
buccaneer. 

Prior  to  the  undertaking  of  these  naval 
adventures,  Stucley  had  contrived  to  form 
an  intimacy  with  the  celebrated  Shane 
O'Neill,  who  had  come  to  the  English 
Court  with  "  a  train  of  Kerns  and  Gallow- 
glasses,  clothed  in  linen  kilts  dyed  with 
saffron."  On  his  return  Shane,  writing  to 
Elizabeth,  declared  :  "  Many  of  the  nobles, 
magnates,  and  gentlemen  of  that  kingdom 
[Scotland]  treated  me  kindly  and  ingenu- 
ously, and  namely  one  of  your  realm,  Mas- 
ter Thomas  Stucley,  entertained  me  with 
his  whole  heart,  and  with  all  the  favor  he 
could.  But  I  perceived  that  his  whole  inten- 
tion, and  the  benevolence  he  showed  me, 
tended  to  this  —  to  show  me  the  magnifi- 
cence and  the  honor  of  your  Majesty  and 
your  realm."  If  the  unsophisticated  Irish 
chief  was  right  in  the  last  surmise,  we  may 

feel 


6  4  'Thomas  Stucley 

feel  sure  that  Stucley  was  well  paid  for  his 
pains.  Stucley's  acquaintance  with  Shane 
O'Neill,  though  he  was  a  dangerous  and 
successful  enemy  of  the  English  in  Ireland, 
seems  to  have  proved  valuable  after  the  fail- 
ure of  his  inroads  upon  the  commerce  of 
France  and  Spain.  For  we  find  Stucley  soon 
after  recommended  by  the  Earls  of  Pem- 
broke and  Leicester,  as  well  as  by  Cecil,  to 
the  service  of  Sir  Henry  Sidney,  Deputy  of 
Ireland,  and  employed  by  the  last  in  several 
negotiations  with  Shane.  Here  again  we 
must  forbear  to  follow  our  clever  adventurer 
too  closely  lest  we  become  involved  in  that 
tangled  labyrinth  of  treachery,  bloodshed, 
injustice,  and  necessary  and  unnecessary 
tyranny  which  characterized  the  Tudor 
relations  with  Ireland.  It  appears  that  al- 
though Stucley  gained  the  confidence  and 
liking  of  Sidney,  the  latter  was  unable  to 
obtain  for  him  at  the  royal  hands  any  post 
in  the  employ  of  the  government  such  as 

seemed 


Gentleman  Adventurer          65 


seemed  to  Stucley  at  all  commensurate  with 
his  talents.  At  length,  apparently  through 
a  private  feud,  Stucley  was  committed  a 
close  prisoner  to  Dublin  Castle,  charged 
with  using  coarse  language  concerning  the 
Queen  and  with  levying  war  against  her. 
It  was  then  that  he  fell  into  the  plot  of  the 
Catholic  clergy  and  nobility  of  Ireland  by 
which  the  crown  of  Ireland  was  to  be  of- 
fered to  the  brother  of  the  King  of  Spain, 
Don  John  of  Austria,  and  Ireland  was  to  be 
separated  forever  from  England.  From  this 
time  forth  the  allegiance  of  Stucley  was  to 
the  Roman  Church,  to  Mary  Stuart,  and  to 
Spain. 

In  Spain  Stucley  was  well  received,  given 
large  gifts  of  money,  set  up  in  a  handsome 
establishment  with  thirty  gentlemen  to  at- 
tend upon  him,  and  the  charges  of  all  de- 
frayed by  the  King.  He  was  welcomed 
in  due  time  to  Court  and  splendidly  enter- 
tained. He  was  knighted  by  Philip  and 

inducted 


66 


"Thomas  Stucley 


inducted  into  the  Spanish  order  of  reli- 
gious knights,  that  of  Calatrava.  Ever  urg- 
ing his  plan  for  the  conquest  of  Ireland, 
begging  for  ships  to  put  to  sea  and  prey 
upon  English  commerce,  at  jealousies  with 
other  renegades  like  himself,  Stucley  wore 
himself  out,  as  did  many  a  better  man,  in 
awaiting  the  decision  and  action  of  Philip, 
who  continued  leisurely  to  spin  his  toils 
unguided  by  advice  and  undeterred  by  the 
recurrent  failure  that  comes  to  him  that  is 
ever  too  late.  Amongst  the  Spaniards  Stuc- 
ley was  popularly  known  as  the  "  Duke  of 
Ireland,"  and  he  was  as  loud  in  his  boasts 
of  his  own  importance  as  he  was  foul  in 
the  calumnies  which  he  spread  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  and  her  Court.  Into  the  latter 
we  need  not  enquire.  When  asked  by  the 
Spanish  secretary,  £ayas,  to  give  a  list  of 
the  lands,  his  possessions  in  Ireland,  of 
which  the  Queen  had  deprived  him,  Stucley 
mentioned  "The  castle  and  town  of  Wex- 

ford, 


Gentleman  Adventurer 


67 


ford,  and  the  whole  county  ;  the  abbey  of 
Inniscorthy  and  that  country  of  mosses, 
and  seven  or  eight  farms  worth  a  thousand 
marks  a  year.  The  castle  of  Ferel  and 
Kinsale  belonging  to  it  and  the  house  of 
Lafylond  and  the  Kavanagh  country  .  .  . 
the  castle  of  Carlow  and  that  whole  county. 
The  ancient  kingdom  of  Leinster,  for  which 
he  had  paid  twenty-two  hundred  pounds 
in  one  day,  but  which  was  taken  from  him 
because  he  was  a  Catholic  and  loved  and 
commended  the  King  of  Spain."  Upon 
another  occasion  he  declared :  "  For  my 
part  I  hate  an  Englishman  as  I  hate  a  dog; 
for  if  ever  I  be  betrayed,  I  shall  be  betrayed 
by  them.  But  Ireland  is  the  country  that  I 
and  my  child  must  stick  to;  for  I  must  live 
by  them  and  they  by  me.  For  there  will  I 
build  a  fair  Abbey,  and  have  in  it  twenty- 
four  friars,  and  one  of  them  to  pray  for  me 
every  hour  of  the  day  and  night.  And  there 
will  I  be  buried." 

Wearied 


68 


Thomas  Stucley 


Wearied  with  dancing  attendance  on  the 
Spanish  Court,  Stucley  sought  and,  after  the 
usual  delay,  obtained  a  warrant  with  a  laud- 
atory recommendation  from  Philip,  to  go 
to  Rome,  where  he  was  received  with  great 
honor  by  Pope  Pius  the  Fifth.  While  in 
Rome  Stucley  held  long  consultations  with 
the  Pope  on  the  state  of  religion,  and  of- 
fered among  other  things  "to  conquer  Ire- 
land with  3000  men  and  to  burn  the  ships 
in  the  Thames,  with  a  detachment  of  two 
ships  and  two  armed  zebras  under  one  of 
his  pilots." 

But  the  Pope  and  Philip  were  otherwise 
busied  at  the  moment,  and  Stucley  was  not 
the  man  to  remain  idle  when  fighting  was 
to  be  had.  It  seems  that  Stucley  was  cap- 
tain of  three  galleys  under  Don  John  at  the 
battle  of  Lepanto,  October  7,  1571,  and 
that  he  acquitted  himself  with  his  usual 
bravery  in  that  celebrated  defeat  of  the 
Turk.  But  though  Stucley  lost  none  of  the 

Spanish 


Gentleman  Adventurer  69 


Spanish  King's  favor,  the  plot  against  Ire- 
land failed  and,  with  the  death  of  Pius  the 
Fifth,  Philip  was  left  to  intrigue,  vacillate, 
and  postpone  to  his  heart's  content  and  to 
the  perfect  security  of  his  enemies.  In  vain 
Stucley  undertook  to  defend  the  narrow  seas 
against  the  navies  of  Elizabeth,  in  vain  he 
tried  to  instruct  the  Spaniards  how  "  to 
frame  their  ships  in  our  manner."  Stucley 
was  living  like  a  prince  at  this  time.  A 
memorandum  preserved  at  Madrid  relates : 
"  The  King  hath  given  to  Thomas  Stucley 
at  times  from  his  first  coming  into  Spain 
in  1570  to  this  time  of  August  1574,  and 
for  keeping  his  house  at  Madrid  .  .  .  the 
whole  sum  of  27,576  ducats,"  a  sum  the 
purchasing  value  of  which  at  that  time 
must  have  represented  nearly  the  same  num- 
ber of  pounds  sterling  to-day.  But  Philip 
was  not  the  only  source  of  Stucley's  reve- 
nues and  honors.  From  a  proclamation 
which  he  afterwards  made  it  appears  that 

Stucley 


7° 


Thomas  Stucky 


Stucley  now  flourished  under  the  titles 
"  Baron  of  Ross  and  Idron,  Viscount  of 
Morough  and  Kenshlagh,  Earl  of  Wexford 
and  Catherlough,  Marquess  of  Leinster  and 
General  of  our  most  Holy  Father,  Pope 
Gregory  the  Thirteenth."  That  Stucley 
was  regarded  by  the  English  government  as 
the  head  and  front  of  all  conspiracies  is 
proved  by  the  diligence  with  which  his 
movements  were  reported  to  Cecil  and 
Walsingham,  and  the  frequency  of  his  name 
in  the  reports  of  the  time. 

At  length  in  1578  an  expedition  under 
the  command  of  Stucley  was  actually  fitted 
out  from  Civita  Vecchia,  the  purpose  of 
which  was  to  invade  Ireland.  Stucley  sailed 
to  Cadiz  and  thence  to  Lisbon,  where  he 
met  King  Sebastian  of  Portugal  prepar- 
ing for  a  Quixotic  expedition  into  Africa. 
Sebastian  was  a  religious  zealot  in  whose 
heart  the  forgotten  fires  of  the  Crusades 
still  burned.  Surrounded  by  the  incense 

and 


Gentleman  Adventurer 


71 


and  adulation  of  priests,  he  had  come  to 
believe  in  himself  as  "  an  ideal  knight, 
chaste  and  strong,"  before  whose  victorious 
lance  the  infidel  must  fall.  Unfortunately 
Sebastian  as  a  military  commander  was  in- 
competency  itself.  Sebastian's  uncle,  the 
astute  King  of  Spain,  recognized  the  situa- 
tion in  its  true  light,  and  when  Sebastian 
undertook  to  interfere  in  a  petty  war 
amongst  the  Mahometans  of  Morocco,  re- 
fused him  assistance,  although  the  Pope 
hallowed  his  banners  and  gave  him  the 
sanction  and  blessing  of  the  Church.  How 
Stucley  could  have  been  induced  to  take  a 
part  in  so  mad  an  expedition  it  is  bootless 
to  enquire.  His  chances  of  success  in  his 
long-cherished  scheme  for  the  invasion  of 
Ireland  were  not  promising,  he  had  raised 
but  a  thousand  of  the  five  thousand  men 
needed.  Perhaps  he  joined  Sebastian  on  the 
latter's  promise  to  return  his  favor  after  the 
conquest  of  Morocco;  perhaps  Philip  and 

the 


"Thomas  Stucley 


the  Pope  were  not  sorry  thus  to  rid  them- 
selves of  a  man  who  had  become  a  consider- 
able charge  upon  them  both,  and  whom  it 
was  as  dangerous  to  encourage  as  it  was 
difficult  to  rebuff. 

Contemporary  report,  tradition,  ballads, 
and  dramas  are  at  some  variance  as  to  the 
precise  circumstances  of  Stucley's  death, 
some  telling  how  he  fell  early  in  the  day 
at  the  battle  of  Alcazar,  others  relating  that 
he  died  by  the  treacherous  hands  of  his 
own  troop  of  Italian  soldiers,  in  their  de- 
spair that  the  battle  was  lost.  All  are  agreed 
that  he  fell  valiantly  as  became  so  notable 
a  commander.  Burghley  thus  wrote  of 
Stucley  after  his  death  :  "  Of  this  man  might 
be  written  whole  volumes  to  paint  out  the 
life  of  a  man  in  the  highest  degree  of  vain- 
glory, prodigality,  falsehood,  and  vile  and 
filthy  conversation  of  life,  and  altogether 
without  faith,  conscience,  or  religion.  And 
yet  this  man  was  he  whom  the  rebels  .  .  . 

and 


Gentleman  Adventurer 


73 


and  all  other  fugitives  being  conversant  at 
Rome  did  hang  all  their  hope  upon  to  have 
their  malicious  purposes  performed  to  the 
ruin  of  the  Queen  their  sovereign  and  their 
native  country.  But  the  end  thereof  fell 
out  by  God's  ordinance,  as  by  this  traitor 
neither  her  Majesty  nor  her  subjects  re- 
ceived any  damage,  neither  yet  could  any 
person  in  England  or  Ireland  become  owner 
of  one  foot  of  land  by  his  death.  Neither 
dukedoms,  marquisates  or  lordships  was  it 
possible  for  her  Majesty  to  benefit  any  per- 
son with  the  forfeitures  thereof.  But  if  his 
death  did  profit  any,  it  was  to  the  King 
of  Spain  and  the  Pope,  by  determination  of 
their  pensions,  although  it  was  credibly  re- 
ported that  the  King  of  Spain,  by  advice  of 
some  of  his  wise  counsellors,  had  discharged 
him  of  all  pensions  and  entertainments  and 
gave  him  passage  to  Rome." 


IV 
AN    OLD-TIME    FRIENDSHIP 


77 


IV 


An  Old-  Time  Friendship 

IN  Saint  Mary's,  the  ancient  collegiate 
church  of  the  town  of  Warwick,  in  a 
room  once  the  chapter-house  of  the 
dean  and  canons,  and  apart  from  the  sepul- 
chral pomp  and  recumbent  imagery  of 
Beauchamp  Chapel,  there  is  a  single  tomb 
of  black  and  white  marble,  somewhat 
sombre  and  hearse-like  in  appearance,  al- 
though of  a  befitting  dignity.  On  it  lies  a 
sword,  now  rusted  into  two  pieces,  and  a 
helmet,  dust  covered  and  fallen  away  with 
age.  This  tomb  was  planned  and  completed 
under  the  direction  of  its  occupant  in  his 
lifetime ;  for  he  was  then  the  owner  of 

Warwick 


78 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


Warwick  Castle  and  of  the  neighboring 
demesne.  On  a  ledge  of  the  table-like 
lower  part  of  this  tomb  and  running  about 
it  is  this  inscription  : 

FVLKE    GREVILL 
SERVANT   TO  QUEENE  ELIZABETH 

CONCELLER   TO    KING   JAMES 

FREND    TO    SIR    PHILIP   SIDNEY 

TROPHAEUM    PECCATI 

Born  four  years  before  Elizabeth  ascended 
the  throne,  entered  at  Shrewsbury  School 
with  Philip  Sidney  in  the  year  of  the  birth 
of  Shakespeare,  Greville  lived  on  into  the 
reign  of  King  Charles,  and  befriended  the 
youthful  Davenant,  an  older  contemporary 
of  Dryden.  Greville's  was  a  remarkable 
range  of  life.  Scarcely  less  remarkable,  too, 
were  his  relations  with  two  of  the  four 
sovereigns  under  whom  he  lived,  his  friend- 
ships among  "great  ones,"  and  his  patron- 
age of  the  learned.  Greville  in  his  youth 

had 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


79 


had  travelled,  like  Sidney,  with  the  reformer 
Languet ;  he  had  entertained  that  rare  spirit 
Giordano  Bruno  at  his  own  table  ;  and  con- 
versed on  terms  of  equality  with  William 
the  Silent  upon  the  political  state  of  Eu- 
rope. In  the  reign  of  James,  Greville  was 
created  a  baron  under  title  of  Lord  Brooke 
of  Beauchamp  Court,  and  served  the  state 
as  a  privy  councillor  and  as  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer.  But  his  greatest  glory  was  under 
Elizabeth,  who  appears  to  have  treated  him 
exceedingly  well,  despite  the  description  of 
her  as  a  monarch  who  "  was  never  profuse 
in  the  delivering  out  of  her  treasure,  but 
paid  many  and  most  of  her  servants  part  in 
money  and  the  rest  with  grace  .  .  .  leaving 
the  arrear  of  recompence  due  to  their  merit 
to  her  great  successor."  Sir  Robert  Naunton, 
who  wrote  these  words  in  an  entertaining 
and  gossipy  book  entitled  Fragmenta  Regalia 
or  Observations  on  the  late  Queen  Elizabeth,  her 
Times  and  Favorites,  declares :  "  Sir  Fulke 

Greville 


8o        An  Old-Time  Friendship 


Greville  had  no  mean  place  in  her  favor, 
neither  did  he  hold  it  for  any  short  term  ; 
for  if  I  be  not  deceived,  he  had  the  longest 
lease  and  the  smoothest  time  without  rub 
of  any  of  her  favorites."  Elsewhere  the 
same  authority  informs  us :  "  Sir  Fulke 
Greville  had  much  and  private  access  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  which  he  used  honorably, 
and  did  many  men  good." 

The  few  that  remember  the  name  of 
Greville  or  connect  that  name  in  any  wise 
with  literature  may  recall  the  clever  note 
which  Charles  Lamb  appended  to  his  selec- 
tions from  Greville's  extraordinary  dramas 
Alaham  and  Mustapha.  "  These  two  tra- 
gedies of  Lord  Brooke  might  with  more 
propriety  have  been  termed  political  trea- 
tises, than  plays.  Their  author  has  strangely 
contrived  to  make  passion,  character  and 
interest  of  the  highest  order  subservient  to 
the  expression  of  state  dogma  and  mysteries. 
He  is  nine  parts  Machiavel  and  Tacitus, 

for 


An  Old-Time  Friendship         81 


for  one  part  Sophocles  or  Seneca.  In  this 
writer's  estimate  of  the  faculties  of  his  own 
mind,  the  understanding  must  have  held 
a  most  tyrannical  preeminence.  Whether 
we  look  into  his  plays  or  his  most  passion- 
ate love-poems,  we  shall  find  all  frozen 
and  made  frigid  with  intellect.  The  finest 
movements  of  the  human  heart,  the  ut- 
most grandeur  of  which  the  soul  is  capable, 
are  essentially  comprised  in  the  actions  and 
speeches  of  Caslica  and  Camena.  Shake- 
speare, who  seems  to  have  had  a  peculiar 
delight  in  contemplating  womanly  perfec- 
tion, whom  for  his  many  sweet  images  of 
female  excellence  all  women  are  in  an  es- 
pecial manner  bound  to  love,  has  not  raised 
the  ideal  of  the  female  character  higher 
than  Lord  Brooke  in  these  two  women  has 
done.  But  it  requires  a  study  equivalent 
to  the  learning  of  a  new  language  to  un- 
derstand their  meaning  when  they  speak." 
Just  though  all  this  is,  there  is  another  light 

by 


82        An  Old-Time  Friendship 


by  which  to  view  this  interesting  man,  by 
which  he  appears  not  wholly  "  a  being  of 
pure  intellect,"  but  as  one  in  whom  a  warm 
and  enthusiastic  youthful  friendship,  ideal- 
ized by  the  flight  of  years,  seems  to  have 
come  to  fill  the  place  of  those  nearer  family 
ties  in  which  the  majority  of  men  find  their 
pleasure  and  solace. 

The  friendships  of  literature  are  of  deep 
interest,  whether  the  twin  stars  shine  with 
independent  brightness,  revolve  one  about 
the  other  like  a  satellite  about  its  planet  as 
did  Boswell  about  his  Johnson,  or  come 
to  be  resolved  by  the  telescope  of  critical 
scholarship  into  a  constellation  of  lumina- 
ries as  the  writers  of  the  group  of  plays 
still  described  as  those  of  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher.  Not  less  interesting  is  the  capa- 
city for  worship  than  the  hero  whose  deeds 
and  perfections  inspire  adoration.  A  capa- 
city for  worship  implies  an  intuitive  recog- 
nition of  worth,  forgetfulness  of  self,  and  an 

aspiring 


An  Old-Time  Friendship         83 


aspiring  ideality  of  mind,  which  the  hero  is 
apt  to  fall  far  short  in. 

Among  the  literary  remains  of  Fulke 
Greville,  which  comprise,  besides  the  dra- 
mas just  mentioned,  several  difficult  trea- 
tises in  verse  on  government  and  some  love 
poetry  of  rare  and  peculiar  excellence,  is 
The  Life  of  the  Renowned  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 
This  Life  is  not  so  much  a  biography  as  a 
eulogy,  combining  an  "  account  of  [Sid- 
ney's] principal  actions,  counsels,  designs 
and  death."  The  work  was  intended  by  the 
author  to  form  an  introduction  to  his  other 
writings,  and  digresses  into  reminiscence  of 
"  the  maxims  and  policies  used  by  Queen 
Elizabeth  in  her  government  "  and  into  her 
relations  with  other  states.  The  literary 
activities  of  a  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
in  the  days  of  King  James  were  not  with- 
out their  lets  and  hindrances.  Greville  had 
proposed  soon  after  Elizabeth's  death  to 
write  a  full  account  of  her  reign,  and  few 

men 


84 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


men  could  have  been  found  better  fitted  for 
the  task.  But  applying  to  Secretary  Cecil 
for  "  his  favor  to  peruse  all  obsolete  records 
of  the  council-chest  from  those  times  to 
these  as  he  in  his  wisdom  should  think 
fit,"  he  was  first  cordially  received,  though 
at  last  put  off  with  the  excuse  that  Cecil 
"  durst  not  presume  to  let  the  council- 
chest  lie  open  to  any  man  living  without 
his  Majesty's  knowledge  and  approbation." 
This  answer  was  doubtless  inevitable  on 
Cecil's  hearing  Greville's  affirmation  that 
he  "  conceived  a  historian  was  bound  to  tell 
nothing  but  the  truth."  There  is  some- 
thing touching  in  the  sight  of  this  gray- 
haired  man  of  the  world  sitting  down  to 
express  in  the  studied  eloquence  of  old  age 
the  images  of  "  this  unmatchable  Queen 
and  woman,"  as  he  calls  Elizabeth,  and  of 
his  boyhood's  friendship  with  Sidney,  the 
paragon  of  a  fresher  age. 

In   Greville's   own  words  :   "  The  differ- 
ence 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


ence  which  I  have  found  between  times, 
and  consequently  the  changes  of  life  into 
which  their  natural  vicissitudes  do  violently 
carry  men,  as  they  have  made  deep  fur- 
rows of  impression  into  my  heart,  so  the 
same  heavy  wheels  caused  me  to  retire  my 
thoughts  from  free  traffic  with  the  world, 
and  rather  seek  comfortable  ease  or  em- 
ployment in  the  safe  memory  of  dead  men, 
than  disquiet  in  a  doubtful  conversation 
amongst  the  living.  Which  I  ingenuously 
confess  to  be  one  chief  motive  of  dedicat- 
ing these  exercises  of  my  youth  to  that 
worthy,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  so  long  since  de- 
parted." Deep  affection  amounting  almost 
to  veneration  for  the  memory  of  his  friend 
breathes  in  these  pages.  "  Though  I  lived 
with  him  and  knew  him  from  a  child,"  he 
says,  in  one  place,  "  yet  I  never  knew  him 
other  than  a  man  :  with  such  steadfastness 
of  mind,  lovely  and  familiar  gravity,  as 
carried  grace  and  reverence  above  greater 

years. 


86 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


years.  His  talk  ever  of  knowledge,  and  his 
very  play  tending  to  enrich  his  mind :  so 
as  even  his  teachers  found  something  in 
him  to  observe  and  learn,  above  that  which 
they  had  read  or  taught."  Elsewhere  he 
summarizes  the  best  in  Sidney  in  these 
words :  "  His  very  ways  in  the  world  did 
generally  add  reputation  to  his  Prince  and 
country,  by  restoring  amongst  us  the  an- 
cient majesty  of  noble  and  true  dealing ; 
as  a  manly  wisdom  that  can  no  more  be 
weighed  down  by  any  effeminate  craft,  than 
Hercules  could  be  overcome  by  that  con- 
temptible army  of  dwarfs.  And  this  was  it 
which,  I  profess,  I  loved  dearly  in  him,  and 
still  shall  be  glad  to  honor  in  the  good 
men  of  this  time :  I  mean  that  his  heart 
and  tongue  went  both  one  way,  and  so 
with  every  one  that  went  with  the  truth  ; 
as  knowing  no  other  kindred,  party  or 
end.  Above  all,  he  made  the  religion  he 
professed  the  firm  basis  of  his  life."  It  was 

with 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


87 


with  such  an  ideal  as  this  before  him  that 
Greville  wrote  of  his  youth's  friendship, 
and  it  is  this  sweet  but  dignified  adoration 
of  a  man  who  truly  merited  the  mourn- 
ing and  remembrance  of  a  nation,  that  has 
given  an  imperishable  value  to  this  work. 

In  the  youth  of  Sidney  and  Greville, 
the  graces  of  chivalry  still  lingered.  Men 
had  come  to  recognize  that  in  war  the  age 
of  personal  prowess  was  a  thing  of  the 
past,  and  that  gunpowder  had  reduced  the 
man-at-arms  in  his  panoply  of  armor  to 
an  anachronism.  At  Court,  however,  tilt- 
ing continued  to  form  part  of  "  shews " 
and  ceremonials ;  and,  on  each  return  of 
the  Queen's  coronation  day,  a  champion, 
mounted  and  in  full  armor,  appeared  in  the 
lists,  the  heralds  announcing  his  challenge 
to  defend  and  uphold  the  title  and  right  of 
"  Elizabeth,  by  the  grace  of  God,  Queen 
of  England,  France  and  Ireland  and  of 
Virginia."  Sidney  and  Greville  were  both 

notable 


88 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


notable  knights,  and  at  Whitsuntide,  1581, 
were  among  the  chief  challengers  in  a  tour- 
ney given  in  honor  of  the  commissioners 
from  the  French  King,  sent  to  negotiate 
Elizabeth's  marriage  with  the  Duke  of 
Anjou.  From  a  contemporary  account  of 
these  events,  we  have  the  following  descrip- 
tion :  "  Then  proceeded  Master  Philip  Sid- 
ney in  very  sumptuous  manner,  with  armor 
part  blue  and  the  rest  gilt  and  engraven  : 
with  four  spare  horses  having  caparisons  and 
furniture  very  rich  and  costly,  as  some  of 
cloth  of  gold  embroidered  with  pearl  .  .  . 
very  richly  and  cunningly  wrought.  He 
had  four  pages  that  rode  on  his  four  spare 
horses,  who  had  cassock  hats  and  Venetian 
hose  all  of  cloth  of  silver  laid  with  gold 
lace,  and  hats  of  the  same  with  gold  bands 
and  white  feathers.  .  .  .  Then  had  he 
thirty  gentlemen  and  yeomen  and  four 
trumpeters,  who  were  all  in  cassock  coats 
and  Venetian  hose  of  yellow  velvet  laid  with 

silver 


An  Old-Time  Friendship         89 

silver  lace,  yellow  caps  with  silver  bands 
and  white  feathers.  .  .  .  Then  came  Mas- 
ter Fulke  Greville  in  gilt  armor  with  rich 
caparisons  and  furniture,  having  four  spare 
horses  with  four  pages  upon  them,  and 
four  trumpeters  sounding  before  him,  and 
a  twenty  gentlemen  and  yeomen  attend- 
ing upon  him."  There  follows  a  minute 
description  of  the  hose,  caps,  and  feathers 
of  Greville's  attendants,  which  the  reader 
may  be  spared.  Suffice  it  to  tell  that  the 
challengers  were  successful,  and  Sidney,  his 
friend  beside  him,  in  the  presence  of  his 
Queen  and  of  his  beloved,  must  have  passed 
in  that  day  one  of  the  happiest  of  his  life. 
Here  is  a  sonnet  that  Sidney  has  left  us  on 
this  occasion  : 

Having  this  day,  my  horse,  my  hand,  my  lance 
Guided  so  well  that  I  obtained  the  prize, 
Both  by  the  judgement  of  the  English  eyes  ; 
And  of  some  sent  by  that  sweet  enemie,  France, 
Horsemen,  my  skill  in  horsemanship  advance : 

Towne-folkes, 


9o 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


Towne-folkes,  my  strength  ;  a  daintier  Judge  applies 
His  praise  to  sleight,  which  from  good  use  doth  rise ; 
Some  lucky  wits  impute  it  but  to  chance ; 
Others,  because  of  both  sides  I  doe  take 
My  bloud  from  them  who  did  excel  in  this, 
Think  Nature  me  a  man  of  armes  did  make. 
How  farre  they  shot  awry  ?    The  true  cause  is, 
Stella  lookt  on  ;  and  from  her  heav'nly  face 
Sent  forth  the  beames  which  made  so  faire  my  race. 

Young  men  such  as  these  could  not  re- 
main content  with  the  shows  of  war  at 
home.  Both  strained  to  get  away  to  actual 
battle  and  adventure,  and  were  only  re- 
strained by  the  imperative  mandates  of  the 
Queen,  who  cared  not  to  risk  in  unneces- 
sary perils  the  lives  of  those  she  loved  to 
have  about  her.  Sidney  especially  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  discoveries  and  ad- 
venturing of  the  time.  Not  only  were  books 
of  poetry,  like  The  Shepheardes  Kalender, 
dedicated  to  him,  but  the  first  edition  of  his 
school-friend's,  Richard  Hakluyt's,  Voyages 
as  well.  Sidney  had  ventured  a  share  in 

Frobisher's 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


91 


Frobisher's  voyage  of  1575 ;  had  sat,  while 
a  member  of  Parliament  for  Kent,  in  a  com- 
mittee intrusted  with  a  definition  of  the 
elastic  boundaries  of  Virginia ;  and  had  nar- 
rowly missed .  going  with  Sir  Humphrey 
Gilbert  on  the  ill-fated  voyage  that  cost 
England  that  brave  seaman.  An  interest- 
ing part  of  Greville's  Life  of  his  friend  de- 
tails how  the  two  young  men  slipped  away 
from  Court,  Sidney  finding  an  errand  of  state 
to  Plymouth,  there  to  effect,  if  possible,  a 
junction  with  Sir  Francis  Drake  and  to  sail 
with  him  on  his  famous  expedition  against 
the  colonies  of  Spain.  Sir  Francis  seems  to 
have  been  not  a  little  concerned  at  the  pros- 
pect of  having  two  such  prominent  young 
courtiers  aboard  his  ship ;  and  was,  it  is 
likely,  not  unaware  of  the  manner  in  which 
their  purpose  reached  the  ear  of  the  Queen. 
Elizabeth's  attitude  towards  the  refractori- 
ness of  her  young  courtiers  in  breaking 
away  from  her  pampering  and  tyrannical 

favor 


92 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


favor  is  well  illustrated  in  the  words  which 
she  is  reported  to  have  addressed  to  young 
Lord  Mountjoy,  who  had  "  twice  or  thrice 
stole  away  into  Brittany  .  .  .  without  the 
Queen's  leave  or  privity."  When  he  had 
come  into  her  presence,  "  she  fell  into  a 
kind  of  railing,  demanding  how  he  durst 
go.  .  .  .  '  Serve  me  so,'  quoth  she,  '  once 
more,  and  I  will  lay  you  fast  enough  for 
running ;  you  will  never  leave  till  you  are 
knocked  on  the  head,  as  that  inconsider- 
ate fellow  Sidney  was ;  you  shall  go  when 
I  send.  In  the  mean  time  see  that  you 
lodge  in  the  Court  .  .  .  where  you  may  fol- 
low your  book,  read,  and  discourse  of  the 
wars."  Well  may  Greville  exclaim,  after 
relating  his  own  staying  on  a  similar  occa- 
sion :  "  Wherein  whatsoever  I  felt,  yet  I  ap- 
peal to  the  judicious  reader,  whether  there 
be  latitude  left  —  more  than  humble  obe- 
dience—  in  these  nice  cases  between  duty 
and  selfness,  in  a  sovereign's  service  ? ' 

When 


An  Old-Time  Friendship         93 


When  Sidney  and  Greville  were  boys 
there  was  little  promise  of  the  great  litera- 
ture that  was  about  to  burst  forth  in  Eng- 
land. Chaucer  was  still  read,  it  is  true,  and 
all  were  agreed  in  .calling  him  the  Homer 
of  English  poetry.  But  the  jingling  satire 
of  Skelton  and  the  rude  genre  farce  of  John 
Heywood  had  been  succeeded  in  the  popu- 
lar esteem  by  the  lugubrious  complaints  of 
'The  Mirror  for  Magistrates,  in  which  histori- 
cal victim  after  victim  of  the  fatal  turn  of 
Fortune's  wheel  returns  from  his  appointed 
place  of  torture  to  rehearse  in  long-paced 
metre  and  with  wearisome  alliteration  the 
miseries  of  his  fall,  and  to  warn  the  reader 
of  the  probable  coming  of  a  like  fate. 
Even  the  songs  and  popular  lyrics  partook 
of  this  dolefulness  of  subject  and  inevitable 
mannerism  of  style.  The  collection  known 
as  Totter s  Miscellany,  which  contained  the 
best  lyrical  poetry  of  the  time  of  Henry  the 
Eighth  and  his  son,  had  indeed  been  made, 

and 


94        An  Old-Time  Friendship 


and  had  run  through  six  editions  before 
Sidney  came  of  age ;  but  the  best  work  of 
Wyatt  and  Surrey,  contributed  to  this  col- 
lection, remained  unequalled,  if  we  except 
the  promise  of  something  better  in  the  ori- 
ginal work  of  Gascoigne  and  in  scattered 
poems  by  some  few  others. 

But  despite  all  this,  there  was  a  general 
interest  in  literature  such  as  had  never 
existed  before  in  England.  By  the  year 
1574,  Sidney  and  Greville  had  left  Shrews- 
bury and  were  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
respectively,  though  still  in  frequent  com- 
munication with  each  other.  A  year  later 
Lyly,  Peele,  and  Watson  were  at  Oxford, 
while  her  sister  University  held  Harvey, 
Spenser,  Lodge,  and  Greene.  These  are 
some  of  the  names  that  achieved  literary 
celebrity,  but  every  young  man  of  promise 
was  writing,  translating,  poetizing,  theoriz- 
ing about  literature.  Poetry,  philosophy, 
history,  the  drama,  rhetoric,  and  versifica- 
tion 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


95 


tion  were  the  chief  topics  to  which  this 
activity  was  addressed,  and  beside  the  set 
treatises  in  which  these  matters  were  avow- 
edly discussed,  there  was  scarcely  a  preface 
or  a  pamphlet,  on  whatever  ostensible  sub- 
ject, which  did  not  enter  into  a  considera- 
tion of  these  questions  of  the  day. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  such  conditions 
as  these  that  young  Philip  Sidney  founded 
what  Gabriel  Harvey  called  the  Areopagus. 
There  is  a  pastoral  poem  extant,  "  made  by 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  upon  his  meeting  with  his 
two  worthy  friends  and  fellow-poets,  Sir 
Edward  Dyer  and  Master  Fulke  Greville." 
A  stanza  or  two  will  show  their  relation  : 

Joyne,  mates,  in  mirth  with  me, 
Graunt  pleasure  to  our  meeting  ; 

Let  Pan,  our  good  god,  see 
How  gratefull  is  our  greeting. 

Joyne  hearts  and  hands,  so  let  it  be  ; 

Make  but  one  minde  in  bodies  three. 

Ye  hymnes  and  singing  skill, 
Of  God  Apolloe's  giving, 

Be 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


Be  prest  our  reedes  to  fill 
With  sound  of  musicke  living, 

Joyne  hearts  and  hands,  so  let  it  be  ; 
Make  but  one  minde  in  bodies  three. 

Now  joyned  be  our  hands, 
Let  them  be  ne'r  a  sunder, 

But  linkt  in  binding  bands 
By  metamorphoz'd  wonder. 

So  should  our  sever'd  bodies  three 

As  one  for  ever  joyned  be. 

This  "  happy,  blessed  trinity,"  as  it  is 
called  in  another  stanza,  was  the  heart  of 
the  Areopagus.  About  these  were  clustered 
a  chosen  few,  deeply  interested  in  poetry 
and  in  theories  about  it.  Edmund  Spenser, 
then  newly  come  to  Court,  could  not  have 
failed  to  be  drawn  into  such  a  brotherhood. 
Gabriel  Harvey,  a  somewhat  pragmatical 
Cambridge  don,  surveyed  the  proceedings 
from  afar,  and  penned  jocular  or  censorius 
letters  to  Spenser  on  the  subjects  discussed, 
all  of  which  letters  he  carefully  preserved 

in 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


97 


in  copy  and  printed  with  some  of  Spenser's 
a  few  years  later,  for  general  edification 
and  the  particular  aggrandizement  of  Ga- 
briel's own  importance.  It  is  unlikely  that 
there  was  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  for- 
mal association  among  these  young  men. 
They  were  all  interested  in  poetry,  and  each 
of  them  —  even  Harvey  in  Latin  —  was  a 
"  practitioner  "  of  it.  The  most  important 
question  of  the  day  was  the  possibility  of  a 
future  for  English  literature.  It  must  be  re- 
membered that  at  the  date  of  the  Areopagus, 
in  the  late  seventies  and  early  eighties,  not 
a  play  of  Marlowe,  Shakespeare,  or  Jonson 
had  been  written;  that  Bacon  was  a  pro- 
mising lad  occasionally  at  Court  with  his 
father,  dubbed  by  the  Queen  for  his  clever 
answers  her  "little  Lord  Chancellor,"  and 
that  the  Faerie  ^ueene  was  in  the  making, 
but  not  yet  known  to  any  save  Harvey, 
who  seems  to  have  set  little  store  by  it. 
To  be  satisfied  with  Surrey  or  Gascoigne, 

recently 


98 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


recently  dead  and  accounted  "  the  chief  of 
our  late  rhymers,"  was  out  of  the  question. 
The  Italians  had  done  better  than  this.  But 
even  the  Italians  had  not  equalled  the  an- 
cients, who,  in  place  of  the  rational  admi- 
ration which  the  literatures  of  Greece  and 
Rome  must  ever  inspire  in  the  man  who 
will  be  at  the  pains  to  know  them,  were 
adored  by  these  Latin-taught  young  men 
with  a  superstitious  reverence  that  seems 
to  have  lingered  in  the  ferules  of  their 
schoolmasters  from  the  Middle  Ages  and 
to  have  been  imparted,  like  much  of  the 
education  of  the  time,  non  sine  lacrimis.  It 
was  thus  that  the  question  of  a  possible 
future  for  English  literature  was  narrowed 
into  an  endeavor  to  foist  classical  metres 
upon  English  verse,  and  English  hexame- 
ters, alcaics,  sapphics,  and  asclepiads  be- 
came the  popular  metrical  experiments  of 
the  day. 

Spenser  appears  to  have  toyed  with  these 

experiments  ; 


An  Old-Time  Friendship         99 


experiments ;  for  all  this  while  he  was  seri- 
ously at  work  on  the  Faerie  £>ueene.  In  a 
letter  to  Harvey,  Spenser  is  merry  on  the 
subject,  likening  certain  words,  to  the  cus- 
tomary accent  of  which  the  new  versifica- 
tion did  violence,  to  "  a  lame  gosling  that 
draweth  one  leg  after  the  other,"  and  con- 
cluding with  an  irony  which  may  not  have 
been  altogether  appreciated  by  Harvey : 
"  But  it  must  be  won  with  custom,  and 
rough  words  must  be  subdued  with  use. 
For  why,  a  God's  name,  may  not  we,  as 
else  the  Greeks,  have  the  kingdom  of  our 
own  language?"  Not  such  wras  the  attitude 
of  Sidney,  who  felt  that  the  question  was 
not  to  be  solved  except  by  extensive  and 
serious  experiment.  With  an  enthusiasm 
and  diligence  which  is  amazing  in  view  of 
his  social  and  political  activity,  Sidney  set 
himself  to  the  study  of  this  problem  and  to 
the  demonstration  of  its  success  or  failure. 
From  the  minute  details  of  the  rules  of 

classical 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


classical  prosody  to  the  grasp  and  assimila- 
tion of  the  aesthetic  theories  of  Aristotle, 
all  was  the  subject  of  Sidney's  attention. 
Widening  the  field  to  include  a  considera- 
tion of  his  contemporaries,  French,  Spanish, 
or  Italian,  he  set  himself  to  transplant  into 
England  whatever  might  beautify  and  en- 
rich her  literature,  and  accomplished  what 
his  short  life  permitted  —  his  rapturous 
sonnets,  Astrophel  and  Stella,  his  romantic 
pastoral,  Arcadia,  and  his  noble  Defence  of 
Poesie  —  not  in  the  spirit  of  abject  imita- 
tion, but  with  that  free  play  of  the  imagi- 
nation and  original  poetic  instinct  which 
are  his  distinguishing  characteristics.  The 
shadows  and  black  clouds  of  disfavor  which 
Elizabeth  permitted  at  times  to  sweep 
across  the  blessed  light  of  the  royal  favor 
were  not  without  their  advantages  to  her 
disconsolate  courtiers.  It  was  in  a  period 
of  eclipse  such  as  this,  the  result  of  his 
bold  letter  to  the  Queen  arguing  against 

her 


An  Old-Time  Friendship 


IOI 


her  marriage  with  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  that 
Sidney  found  the  leisure  for  the  writing  of 
his  Arcadia  and  for  carrying  on  the  experi- 
ments just  mentioned.  It  was  Sidney's  use 
of  classical  and  Italian  forms  of  poetry,  his 
writing  of  sonnets,  pastorals,  his  employ- 
ment of  "conceit"  and  a  flowery,  poetical 
diction,  that  gave  sanction  and  currency  to 
all  these  things.  They  would  have  existed 
without  him,  for  they  were  in  the  air, 
the  very  perfume  of  the  time ;  but  it  was 
something  for  English  poetry  to  have  had 
the  budding  of  this  blossoming  spring  at 
the  hands  of  this  sane  and  gracious  poet,  this 
noble,  sound-hearted  man. 


"AN    AERY    OF    CHILDREN 
LITTLE    EYASES" 


V 

"An  Aery  of  Children 
Little  Eyases r 


i 


is,  sir,  an  aery  of  children, 
little  eyases,  that  cry  out  on  the 
top  of  question  and  are  most  tyran- 
nically clapped  for  't :  these  are  now  the 
fashion,  and  so  berattle  the  common  stages 
-  so  they  call  them  —  that  many  wearing 
rapiers  are  afraid  of  goose-quills  and  dare 
scarce  come  thither. 

"  What,  are  they  children  ?  who  main- 
tains 'em  ?  how  are  they  escoted  ?  Will 
they  pursue  the  quality  no  longer  than  they 
can  sing  ?  will  they  not  say  afterwards,  if 
they  should  grow  themselves  to  common 

players 


io6 


An  Aery  of  Children 


players  —  as  it  is  most  like,  if  their  means 
are  no  better  —  their  writers  do  them 
wrong,  to  make  them  exclaim  against  their 
own  succession  ? 

"  'Faith,  there  has  been  much  to  do  on 
both  sides ;  and  the  nation  holds  it  no  sin 
to  tarre  them  to  controversy :  there  was, 
for  a  while,  no  money  bid  for  argument, 
unless  the  poet  and  the  player  went  to  cuffs 
in  the  question. 

"  Is  't  possible  ? 

"  Oh,  there  has  been  much  throwing 
about  of  brains. 

"  Do  the  boys  carry  it  away  ? 

"  Ay,  that  they  do,  my  lord ;  Hercules 
and  his  load  too." 

From  this  well-known  passage  of  Ham- 
let it  appears  that  a  certain  company  of  boy 
actors,  who  are  likened  for  their  forward- 
ness to  a  nest-full  of  fledgling  hawks,  are 
in  great  popularity  for  their  high-pitched 
eloquence  and  for  the  satirical  intent  of 

their 


Little  Eyases 

their  plays.  There  was  controversy  between 
them  and  other  companies,  and  the  town 
did  not  hesitate  to  set  them  ("tarre  them") 
like  dogs  upon  each  other,  and  to  grant 
that  the  boys,  who  apparently  looked  down 
upon  their  opponents'  theatres  as  "  common 
stages,"  had  the  better  of  the  argument. 

In  the  London  of  Spenser's  boyhood 
there  was  not  a  single  theatre,  and  Eliza- 
beth ruled  nearly  twenty  years  before  the 
first  playhouses  were  erected.  The  yards  of 
several  inns,  it  is  true,  were  used  for  bear- 
baiting,  cock-fighting,  or  theatrical  exhi- 
bitions, as  the  case  might  be;  and  several 
companies  of  strolling  actors  gained  a  pre- 
carious living  in  and  about  London  under 
the  ostensible  patronage  of  certain  nobles. 
The  crudity  of  their  performances  was  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  courtiers,  and  many 
were  the  jokes  which  were  cracked  at 
the  expense  of  the  English  playwright,  of 
whom  it  was  said  that  "  in  three  hours 


runs 


107 


io8  An  Aery  of  Children 

runs  he  through  the  world  .  .  .  makes 
children  men,  men  to  conquer  kingdoms, 
murder  monsters,  bringeth  gods  from  hea- 
ven and  devils  from  hell."  At  Court,  at  the 
Universities,  and  in  the  societies  of  the  Inns 
of  Court,  another  species  of  drama  nour- 
ished, and  with  it  another  species  of  actor. 
Here  was  the  domain  of  cultivated  life  and 
the  sanction  of  classical  study;  and  the 
actors,  when  not  courtiers  themselves  or  the 
gentlemen  of  the  Inner  or  Middle  Tem- 
ple or  of  Gray's  Inn,  were  the  well-trained 
boys  of  her  Majesty's  Chapel  or  of  the  choir 
of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Paul's.  Into  what 
depths  of  antiquity  the  training  of  Eng- 
lish choir-boys  for  theatrical  performances 
extends,  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine. 
Considering  the  customary  performance  of 
miracles  and  moralities  by  craft-guilds  as 
well  as  clericals  and  the  frequent  acting 
of  plays  of  Plautus  and  Terence  in  Latin 
at  the  Universities  in  the  Middle  Ages, 

the 


Little  Eyases 


the  practice  must  have  been  of  very  early 
origin.  If  the  choir-boy  was  not  the  ear- 
liest actor,  the  choir-master  was  certainly 
among  the  earliest  playwrights.  The  duties 
of  Richard  Edwards,  Doctor  of  Music  and 
Master  of  her  Majesty's  Chapel,  must  have 
been  multifarious.  For  not  only  did  he 
train  and  lead  his  choir  and  accompany 
them  on  the  organ ;  it  was  his  duty  also 
to  compose  new  sacred  music  and  secular 
songs,  to  devise  pageants  and  "  shews,"  to 
write  plays  and  to  teach  his  young  charges 
how  to  act  them  to  the  "  contentation  "  of 
the  Queen. 

In  the  fragmentary  and  disjointed  re- 
cords of  the  office  of  the  Queen's  Revels, 
the  function  of  which  was  to  furnish  enter- 
tainment to  the  Court  on  holidays  and 
high  days,  are  many  entries  of  payments 
for  actors,  for  properties,  and  services,  apper- 
taining to  the  presentations  of  masques  and 
plays  before  the  Queen.  Among  them,  the 

mention 


109 


I  IO 


An  Aery  of  Children 


mention  of  the  Children  of  Paul's,  of  Wind- 
sor, of  Westminster,  and  of  her  Majesty's 
Chapel  are  not  infrequent,  and  many  pay- 
ments are  recorded  to  their  Masters.  This 
is  the  usual  form  :  "  Payde  upon  the  coun- 
cell's  warraunt  dated  at  Westminster  the 
ninth  daye  of  March  1561  to  Sebastyan 
Westcot,  Master  of  the  children  of  Polls 
for  an  Enterlude  played  before  the  Queen's 
Majesty  vju  xiijs  iiijd."  Some  entries  sug- 
gest the  nature  of  the  performance.  Thus  a 
furrier  was  paid  for  "ten  dosen  of  Kydd's 
skinnes  together  with  the  woorkmanship 
by  him  and  his  servaunts  doone  upon  the 
Hobby  horses  that  served  the  children 
of  Westminster  in  the  Triumphe,  where 
parris  [Paris]  wan  the  Christall  sheeld  for 
vienna  at  the  turneye  and  barryers  ; "  and 
the  history  of  "cipio  [Scipio]  Africanus 
showen  at  Whitehall  the  sondaye  night 
after  newe  yeares  daie  [was]  enacted  by 
the  children  of  Pawles  furnished  in  this 

Offyce 


Little  Eyases 


iii 


Offyce  with  sondrey  garments  and  trium- 
phant ensignes  and  banners  newe  made 
and  their  head-pieces  of  white  sarcenett, 
scarfes  and  garters  etc."  From  a  series  of 
entries  intended  to  convey  no  more  than 
the  information  of  certain  extra  charges 
and  the  reasons  for  them,  a  momentary 
glimpse  of  the  life  of  these  little  actors  may 
be  obtained.  These  entries  shall  tell  their 
own  story : 

"Item,  for  the  diets  and  lodging  of 
divers  children  at  saint  Jones  whiles  thay 
Learned  theier  parts  and  jestures  meet  for 
the  Mask  in  which  ix  of  them  did  serve 
at  Hampton  Coorte  xxxiij8  iiijd. 

"  To  Bruton  of  Powles  wharfe  for  a 
Bardge  and  vj  ores  [oars]  with  ij  Tylt  Whir- 
reyes  that  carryed  the  Masking  geare  and 
Children  with  theier  tutors  and  an  Italian 
Woman  the  which  to  dresse  theier  heads 
as  also  the  Taylers,  property  makers  and 
haberdashers  xxiiij3. 

"To 


An  Aery  of  Children 


"  To  William  Skarboro  for  fryer  and 
vittels  for  the  Children  and  theier  attend- 
ants whiles  thay  wayted  to  know  whether 
her  Majesty  would  have  the  Maske  that 
nighte  ixs  vjd. 

"  For  trymmyng  the  Children  on  Shrove- 
tuisdaye  xijd. 

"  To  Mother  sparo  for  the  lodgings  with 
ffyer  and  ffoode  that  nighte  and  in  the 
Morning  whiles  they  staied  for  botes  [boats 
at  Kingston]  xijd. 

"To  Thomas  Totnall  for  ffyer  and  vit- 
tells  for  the  Children  when  they  landed, 
sum  of  them  being  sick  and  colde  and 
hungry  vs  vjd." 

Let  us  hope  that  Mother  Sparrow  was 
kind  to  her  little  charges,  and  that  Thomas 
Totnall,  furnishing  fire  and  victuals,  did 
not  skimp  the  weary  little  fellows  in  their 
comforts. 

That  abuses  should  have  arisen  in  this 
traffic  was  to  be  expected.  In  the  early 

years 


Little  Eyases 


years  of  Elizabeth's  reign  there  was  only 
an  occasional  use  of  schoolboys  or  choir- 
boys for  performances  at  Court.  But  while 
the  boys  of  Westminster  School  and  the 
Merchant  Tailors'  continued  occasional  and 
amateur  performers,  the  Children  of  the 
Chapel  and  those  of  St.  Paul's  were  soon 
formed  into  regularly  organized  professional 
companies  each  with  its  place  of  popular 
performance  in  the  city,  either  the  singing- 
school  or  a  theatre  constructed  for  them. 
The  excuse  for  the  earlier  popular  theatri- 
cal representations  of  the  day  was  that  of 
practice  for  the  Queen's  entertainment,  for 
without  the  direct  patronage  of  the  Court 
no  company  could  long  maintain  itself. 
The  choir-master,  thus  converted  into  a 
theatrical  manager,  added  an  eager  pursuit 
of  popular  favor  to  his  former  duty  as  a 
purveyor  of  entertainment  to  the  Court.  In 
1597  letters  patent  were  issued  under  the 
great  seal  authorizing  Nathaniel  Gyles,  then 

Master 


rl3 


H4          An  Aery  of  Children 

Master  of  the  Chapel,  and  his  deputies  "  to 
take  such  children  as  he  ...  should  thinke 
meete,  in  cathedrall,  collegiate,  parish 
churches  or  chappells  "  for  the  better  ser- 
vice of  her  Majesty's  Chapel.  This  power 
Gyles  abused  by  taking  likely  and  clever 
lads  from  their  schools  and  even  apprentices 
from  their  masters,  "  being  children  noe 
way  able  or  fitt  for  singing,  nor  by  anie  the 
sayd  confederates  endeavoured  to  be  taught 
to  singe,"  and  employing  them,  as  the  peti- 
tion proceeds  to  set  forth,  for  the  manager's 
"  owne  corrupte  gayne  and  lucre,  to  errecte, 
sett  upp,  furnish  and  maynteyne  a  play 
house  or  place  in  the  Blackfryers  within 
your  Majesties  cytie  of  London,  and  to  the 
end  they  mighte  the  better  furnish  theire 
sayd  playes  and  enterludes  with  childeren 
whome  they  thought  moste  fittest  to  acte 
and  furnish  the  said  playes." 

Relieved  of  its  legal  verbiage,  this  com- 
plaint proceeds  to  relate  how  one  Thomas 

Clifton, 


Little  Eyases 

Clifton,  a  gentleman's  son  of  some  thirteen 
years  of  age,  had  been  kidnapped  on  his  way 
to  school  and  brought  to  the  playhouse  in 
Blackfriars  "  amongst  a  companie  of  lewde 
and  dissolute  mercenary  players,"  how  the 
boy  was  given,  "  in  most  scornfull  disdayn- 
full  and  dispightful  manner,  a  scroll  of 
paper  conteyning  parte  of  one  of  theire 
playes  and  .  .  .  commaunded  to  learne  the 
same  by  harte,"  and  told  that  if  he  did  not 
obey  "  he  should  be  surely  whipped."  To 
the  father  of  young  Clifton,  who  sought 
his  son  at  the  theatre,  Gyles  was  exceed- 
ingly abusive,  not  only  refusing  to  release 
the  boy,  but  declaring  that  "  if  the  Queene 
.  .  .  would  not  beare  them  furth  in  that 
accion,  she  should  gett  another  to  execute 
her  commission  for  them"  [that  is,  as  far 
as  they  were  concerned]  ;  and  replying  to 
Clifton's  objection  that  "  it  was  not  fitt 
that  a  gentleman  of  his  sorte  should  have 
his  sonne  and  heire  to  be  so  basely  used," 

that 


An  Aery  of  Children 


that  "  they  had  aucthoritie  sufficient  soe  to 
take  any  noble  mans  sonne  in  this  land,  and 
did  then  and  there  use  theis  speeches,  that 
were  it  not  for  the  benefitt  they  made  by 
the  sayd  play  house,  whoe  would,  should 
serve  the  Cappell  with  childeren  for  them." 
Indeed  it  was  not  until  the  matter  was 
brought  to  the  attention  of  the  Queen's 
privy  council  that  a  warrant  was  at  last  is- 
sued compelling  Gyles  to  release  some  of 
the  boys,  and  the  upshot  of  the  whole  mat- 
ter was  a  censure  by  the  Star  Chamber  by 
which  all  "  assurances  made  to  him  con- 
cerning the  said  house  or  plays  "  were  de- 
clared utterly  void. 

Of  the  seven  boys  named  in  the  com- 
plaint as  thus  violently  inducted  into  the 
theatrical  profession,  two  at  least  remained 
in  it.  These  were  the  notable  actor  and  play- 
wright, Nathaniel  Field,  and  little  Salathiel 
Pavey,  who  achieved  reputation  as  an  actor 
before  his  death  at  the  early  age  of  thirteen. 

By 


Little  Eyases 


By  the  irony  of  fate,  Field  was  the  son  of 
a  preacher  who  wrote  in  1581  a  letter  to 
the  Earl  of  Leicester  "  adjuring  him  not  to 
encourage  those  wickednesses  and  abuses 
that  are  wont  to  be  nourished  by  those 
impure  interludes  and  plays."  On  an  acci- 
dent at  one  of  the  theatres,  in  which  several 
persons  were  hurt,  the  same  zealous  man 
published  a  pamphlet  beginning  :  "  A  Godly 
Exhortation  by  occasion  of  the  late  judg- 
ment of  God  shewed  at  Paris  Garden,"  and 
ending:  "given  to  all  estates  for  their  in- 
struction, concerning  the  keeping  of  the 
Sabbath  day,  by  John  Field  Minister  of 
the  Word  of  God."  John  Field  died  whilst 
Nathaniel  was  still  an  infant,  and  was  thus 
spared  much  unhappiness.  When  Nathan- 
iel was  carried  off  by  Gyles  he  was  a  scholar 
at  Westminster  School  and  could  have  been 
little  over  twelve  or  thirteen  years  of  age. 
In  1600  and  the  next  year,  Field  was  the 
chief  actor  in  Jonson's  difficult  satirical 

plays, 


n8 


An  Aery  of  Children 


plays,  Cynthia  s  Revels  and  the  Poetaster. 
Several  years  later  he  took  the  title-role  in 
Epiccene  or  the  Silent  Woman.  In  this  play 
the  perplexities  of  identification  reach  the 
highest  point  as  the  silent  woman  in  the 
fifth  act  is  suddenly  metamorphosed  into  a 
noisy  boy,  and  the  actor  must  thus  pretend 
to  be  that  which  he  is  not,  to  delude  his 
auditors  into  believing  him  not  to  be  that 
which  he  is.  Field  was  a  kind  of  protege  of 
Jonson's,  who  related  years  after  that  the 
boy  was  his  scholar  and  had  read  to  him 
the  satires  of  Horace  and  some  epigrams  of 
Martial.  It  is  pleasant  to  contemplate  the 
picture  thus  presented  to  us  of  the  father- 
less boy,  stolen  away  from  his  mother  and 
deprived  of  his  schooling,  gaining  so  power- 
ful a  friend  as  the  great  dramatist  and  dic- 
tator, with  the  latter's  attempt  to  supply 
in  part  the  boy's  interrupted  education. 
Salathiel  Pavey  was  also  among  the  actors 
of  the  earlier  two  plays  just  mentioned,  but 

suffered 


Little  Eyases 


119 


suffered  an  untimely  fate.  As  appears  from 
the  verses  below,  this  child  was  renowned 
for  his  ability  to  play  the  parts  of  old  men, 
and  must  have  been  deeply  beloved  by  Jon- 
son  to  have  been  so  embalmed,  fleeting  little 
creature  that  he  was,  in  the  clear  amber  of 
the  following  fine  epitaph  : 

Weep  with  me,  all  you  that  read 

This  little  story  : 
And  know,  for  whom  a  teare  you  shed, 

Death's  selfe  is  sorry. 
'T  was  a  child,  that  so  did  thrive 

In  grace  and  feature, 
As  Heaven  and  Nature  seem'd  to  strive 

Which  own'd  the  creature. 
Yeares  he  numbred  scarce  thirteene 

When  Fates  turn'd  cruell, 
Yet  three  fill'd  Zodiacs  had  he  been 

The  Stage's  Jewell ; 
And  did  act,  what  now  we  moan, 

Old  men  so  duely, 
As,  sooth,  the  Parcce  thought  him  one, 

He  plai'd  so  truely. 
So,  by  error  to  his  fate 

They  all  consented  ; 

But 


An  Aery  of  Children 


But  viewing  him  since  (alas,  too  late  !) 

They  have  repented  ; 
And  have  sought,  to  give  new  birth, 

In  bathes  to  steep  him  ; 
But,  being  so  much  too  good  for  earth, 

Heaven  vowes  to  keep  him. 

An  examination  of  the  repertoire  of 
these  boy  companies  discloses  the  fact  that 
they  performed  for  the  most  part  plays  of 
a  satirical  and  allegorical  intent  :  Peele's 
Arraignment  of  Paris,  in  which  the  apple  of 
Ate  is  taken  from  Venus  and  reawarded  to 
the  peerless  nymph  and  queen,  Eliza  ;  Lyly's 
Endimion,  in  which  is  figured  forth  in  elab- 
orate allegory  the  vain  love  of  Leicester 
for  Cynthia,  that  changeful,  brilliant  lumi- 
nary and  queen  of  night  ;  Cynthia's  Revels 
and  the  Poetaster,  in  which  the  gilded  life 
of  courtiers  and  the  foibles  and  jealousies  of 
the  poets  are  respectively  satirized.  Widely 
contrasted  were  such  plays  with  the  stirring 
dramas  of  Marlowe  and  Shakespeare  with 

which 


Little  Eyases 


which  the  popular  stages  were  ringing,  in 
which  the  characters  were  no  mere  witty 
caricatures  of  the  follies  that  disported  their 
velvets  and  plumes  at  Court  or  in  Paul's 
Walk,  the  hero  no  dainty  Euphuist  apostro- 
phizing the  moon  in  measured  cadence  and 
with  ingenious  simile,  but  merry  Prince 
Hal  with  his  escapades  in  the  free  life  of 
Cheapside,  his  blunt  courtship  of  the  coy 
Princess  of  France,  and  the  valor,  the  un- 
dertone of  religious  feeling,  and  the  innate 
manliness,  that  made  Henry  the  Fifth  the 
popular  English  hero. 

Toward  the  end  of  Elizabeth's  reign  the 
boy  companies  made  a  strong  effort  to  ob- 
tain the  favorable  suffrage  of  the  public. 
They  were  notoriously  active  in  what  was 
known  as  the  "  war  of  the  theatres,"  in 
which  the  dramatists  carried  on  a  seem- 
ingly internecine  conflict  by  means  of  a 
satirical  representation  of  each  other  on  the 
stage.  They  procured,  too,  the  services  of 

some 


121 


122 


An  Aery  of  Children 


some  of  the  greatest  playwrights  of  the  age, 
so  that  Chapman,  Marston,  and  Jonson  all 
wrote  for  them  for  a  time.  It  is  not  to  be 
doubted  that  to  all  this  Shakespeare  alludes 
in  the  passage  from  Hamlet  quoted  above. 
We  have  here  the  deliberate  judgment  of  a 
noble  and  successful  rival  on  the  unusual  ef- 
forts of  the  boy  companies  to  curry  popular 
favor.  It  is  in  the  kindly  and  humorsome 
vein  that  we  might  expect  of  the  master- 
poet,  whose  only  criticism  is  contained  in 
the  hint  that  at  some  time  the  boys  might 
come  to  feel  that  their  playwrights  had 
"done  them  wrong"  in  thus  setting  them  in 
opposition  to  that  profession  in  which  most 
of  them  were  likely  to  continue  as  men. 

Some  of  the  contemporary  dramas  utilized 
the  circumstance  that  boys  were  the  actors 
to  present  us  bits  of  realistic  painting  of  the 
manners  of  the  time.  Thus  in  Beaumont's 
Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  a  satirical  parody 
of  the  absurdity  of  the  romantic  adventures 

often 


Little  Eyases  123 

often  put  on  the  stage,  the  prologue  is  spoken 
by  a  boy  who  is  easily  induced  with  a  couple 
of  shillings  to  permit  an  apprentice  to  be 
poked  into  the  play  and  to  assume  willy- 
nilly  the  role  of  hero  throughout. 

In  the  Return  from  Parnassus  the  prologue 
is  begun  by  a  boy  who  breaks  down  after 
"  Spectators  we  will  act  a  comedy."  Where- 
upon the  stage-keeper  tries  to  prompt  him, 
but  has  not  the  matter  in  his  book;  so  he 
scolds  the  lad  and  lets  out  the  reason  of  his 
forgetfulness  : 

"  You  would  be  whipt,  you  raskall :  you 
must  be  sitting  up  all  night  at  cardes,  when 
you  should  be  conning  your  part." 

"  Its  all  long  of  you,"  sobs  the  boy,  "  I 
could  not  get  my  part  a  night  or  two  before, 
that  I  might  sleepe  on  it." 

The  stage  direction  concludes:  "the stage- 
keeper  carrieth  the  boy  away  under  his 
arme."  Sobs,  struggles,  and  well-directed 
kicking  we  may  imagine  for  ourselves. 

Cynthia's 


I  24 


An  Aery  of  Children 


Cynthia's  Revels  opens  with  a  lively  con- 
tention between  three  of  "  the  children  " 
as  to  which  is  to  speak  the  prologue.  They 
decide  the  matter  by  drawing  lots,  and  the 
two  unsuccessful  claimants  amuse  them- 
selves by  badgering  the  speaker  and  try- 
ing to  put  him  out  of  his  part.  After  this, 
all  fall  to  mimicking  the  auditors  that 
are  accustomed  to  sit  on  the  stage,  cut- 
ting precisely  the  antics  which  we  might 
expect  of  a  parcel  of  lively  urchins  under 
such  circumstances,  and  employing  an  as- 
severation, "  Would  I  were  whipped  !  ' 
only  too  appropriate,  we  may  fear,  to  the 
method  of  their  training.  Here  is  a  bit  of 
their  mimicry.  The  dashes,  in  Jonson's 
orthography,  denote  the  airy  whiffs  of  the 
young  mimic  as  he  smokes  or  —  as  they 
then  styled  it  —  "drinks"  and  exhales  his 
" tabacco." 

"  Now,   sir,  suppose   I   am   one  of  your 
gentile  auditors,  that  am  come  in  (having 

paid 


Little  Eyases  125 

paid  my  money  at  the  doore,  with  much 
adoe)  and  here  I  take  my  place,  and  sit 
downe :  I  have  my  three  sorts  of  tabacco  in 
my  pocket,  my  light  by  me,  and  thus  I  be- 
gin. '  By  this  light,  I  wonder  that  any  man 
is  so  mad,  to  come  to  see  these  rascally  tits 
play  here  —  they  do  act  like  so  many  wrens 
...  —  not  the  fifth  part  of  a  good  face 
amongst  them  all. — And  then  their  musick 
is  abominable  —  able  to  stretch  a  man's 
ears  worse  than  ten  —  pillories,  and  their 
ditties  —  most  lamentable  things,  like  the 
pitifull  fellows  that  make  them  —  poets. 
By  this  vapour  [and  we  may  be  sure  that 
the  little  rogue  puffed  out  his  smoke  with 
great  unction],  an  'twere  not  for  tabacco 
- 1  think  —  the  very  [smell]  of  hem 
would  poison  mee,  I  should  not  dare  to 
come  in  at  their  gates.  A  man  were  bet- 
ter visit  fifteen  jay  Is,  —  or  a  dozen  or  two 
hospitals  —  than  once  adventure  to  come 
near  them.'  How  is  't  ?  Well  ? 

"Excellent : 


I  26 


An  Aery  of  Children 


"  Excellent :  give  me  my  cloake  [the 
badge  of  the  speaker  of  the  prologue] . 

"  Stay ;  you  shall  see  me  doe  another 
now ;  but  a  more  sober,  or  better-gather' d 
gallant ;  that  is  (as  it  may  be  thought)  some 
friend  or  well-wisher  to  the  house :  And 
here  I  enter. 

"  What  ?  upon  the  stage,  too  ? 

"  Yes :  and  I  step  forth  like  one  of  the 
children,  and  aske  you, l  Would  you  have  a 
stoole,  sir  ? ' 

"<  A  stoole,  boy?' 

"  '  Aye,  sir,  if  you  'le  give  me  six  pence, 
I  'le  fetch  you  one.' 

"  *  For  what  I  pray  thee  ?  what  shall  I  doe 
with  it  ? ' 

"  *  O  lord,  sir  !  will  you  betray  your  igno- 
rance so  much  ?  Why  throne  your  selfe  in 
state  on  the  stage,  as  other  gentlemen  use, 
sir.' 

"  '  Awaye,  wagge  ;  what,  wouldst  thou 
make  an  implement  of  rne  ?  Slid  the  boy 

takes 


Little  Eyases 


takes  mee  for  a  peece  of  perspective  (I  hold 
my  life),  or  some  silke  curtain.' ' 

We  may  feel  sure  that  these  sketches 
were  not  without  their  true  originals  in 
life,  and  perchance  not  always  in  need  of 
the  intervention  of  a  poet  for  their  presen- 
tation. 

Women  first  appeared  as  actresses  on  the 
stage  about  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  and 
in  a  few  years  the  boy  actor  was  a  thing 
of  the  past.  Francis  Kynaston  is  reputed 
to  have  been  the  last  male  actor  to  appear 
in  female  parts.  Kynaston  was  famed  for 
his  delicate  beauty  and  it  is  of  him  that 
Gibber  relates  the  story,  that  King  Charles, 
coming  earlier  than  was  expected  to  the 
playhouse,  became  impatient  that  the  play 
did  not  begin,  until  informed  that  the  Queen 
was  unhappily  not  yet  shaven. 


I  27 


VI 
A    GROATSWORTH    OF   WIT 


VI 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 

LATE  in  the  summer  of  1 593,  a  young 
man  lay  dying  in  low  lodgings  near 
Dowgate,  "  sore  sick  of  a  surfeit 
which  he  had  taken  with  drinking."  De- 
graded with  sin,  pinched  with  want,  starv- 
ing and  dying  in  the  street,  except  for  the 
charity  of  a  shoemaker's  wife,  almost  a 
beggar  like  himself,  he  had  reached  the 
end  of  a  short  and  wasted  life,  and  now  too 
late  lay  repentant  in  the  agony  of  helpless 
humiliation.  A  waste  of  raging  and  beat- 
ing waves  seemed  to  him  to  have  flowed 
between  his  miserable  present  and  the  sim- 
ple, godly  household  of  his  childhood,  the 

memory 


I32 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


memory  of  which  had  inspired  him  with 
some  of  his  sweetest  songs.  The  one  year 
of  calm  and  righteous  life  which  he  had 
spent  with  his  fair  and  newly-wedded  wife 
stood  out  in  his  memory  like  an  island  of 
bliss  in  an  ocean  of  bitterness ;  and  he  re- 
curred again  and  again  to  the  face  of  his 
little  son,  for  years  deserted  and  forgotten, 
and  groaned  in  agony  as  he  thought  how 
that  innocent  life  might  fall  and  crumble 
like  his  own  under  a  burden  of  sin. 

For  the  rest,  it  seemed  a  hideous  dream, 
a  very  orgy  of  weakness,  folly,  and  wicked- 
ness. At  Cambridge  Robert  Greene  had 
ruffled  it  with  gay  and  roistering  compan- 
ions and,  travelling  into  Italy,  had  justified 
the  grave  words  of  the  Queen's  old  tutor, 
Roger  Ascham,  who  had  warned  fathers  : 
"  Suffer  not  your  sons  to  pass  the  Alps,  for 
they  shall  learn  nothing  there  but  pride, 
blasphemy  and  atheism."  In  London  after 
a  short  period  of  study,  Greene  plunged 

into 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit         133 


into  excesses  of  life  and  conduct  from  which 
he  revolted  in  his  saner  moments.  At  last  he 
became  the  associate  and  boon  companion 
of  thieves  and  outcasts,  and  fell  to  depths 
whence  self-respect  could  no  longer  recall 
him.  In  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
men  had  not  yet  learned  to  despise  the 
devil.  They  believed  in  his  actual  exist- 
ence, horns,  hoofs  and  all.  And  although 
they  dallied  with  him  —  as  men  have  dal- 
lied, alas,  in  all  ages  —  they  were  often  over- 
come with  terror,  like  Faustus,  at  their 
dealings  with  him.  It  is  this  which  gives 
a  tragic  pathos  to  the  despairing  words  of 
the  dying  Robert  Greene,  and  shakes  our 
modern  skepticism  into  something  like  re- 
spect for  the  efficacy  of  a  death-bed  repent- 
ance. 

The  sins  of  Robert  Greene  lay  heavy 
upon  him  even  in  the  midst  of  his  bad  life. 
He  tells  us  in  his  pamphlet,  "The  Repentance, 
how  he  received  an  "  inward  motion  in 

Saint 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


Saint  Andrew's  Church  in  the  city  of  Nor- 
wich at  a  lecture  or  sermon  preached  by  a 
godly  learned  man.  .  .  .  Whosoever  was 
worst,  I  knew  myself  to  be  as  bad  as  he : 
for  being  new  come  from  Italy  (where  I 
learned  all  the  villainies  under  heaven)  I 
was  drowned  in  pride  .  .  .  and  gluttony 
with  drunkenness  was  my  only  delight.  At 
this  sermon  the  terror  of  God's  judgment 
did  manifestly  teach  me  that  my  exer- 
cises were  damnable  and  that  I  should  be 
wiped  out  of  the  book  of  life,  if  I  did  not 
speedily  repent  my  looseness  of  life.  ...  I 
began  to  call  unto  mind  the  danger  of  my 
soul  ...  in  so  much  as,  sighing,  I  said  in 
myself:  '  Lord  have  mercy  upon  me,  and 
send  me  grace  to  amend  and  become  a  new 
man.' '  But  returning  to  his  "  copesmates," 
they  rallied  him  on  his  "  solemn  humor," 
"  calling  me  Puritan  and  a  Precisian,  and 
wished  that  I  might  have  a  pulpit  .  .  .  that 
by  their  foolish  persuasion  the  good  and 

wholesome 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


wholesome  lesson  I  had  learned  went  quite 
out  of  my  remembrance." 

There  were  other  thoughts  in  the  mind 
of  the  dying  man.  He  remembered  an 
early  ambition  that  had  once  glowed  within 
him :  to  be  a  poet  and  create  those  forms 
of  beauty  in  musical  words,  which  rendered 
their  makers,  in  the  estimation  of  men,  the 
peers  of  kings  and  princes.  The  reputation 
of  Edmund  Spenser,  the  great  "  new  poet" 
at  Court,  burned  with  a  steady,  holy  flame ; 
and  the  splendid  boast  of  the  Faerie  ^ueene 
was  on  the  lips  of  many,  who  agreed  that 
truly  this  beautiful  poem,  dedicated  "  to  the 
Most  High,  Mightie  and  Magnificent  Em- 
peresse,  .  .  .  Elizabeth,  by  the  Grace  of 
God  Queene  of  England,  France,  Ireland 
and  Virginia,"  was  "  to  live  with  the  eter- 
nity of  her  fame."  And  what  of  the  work 
of  Robert  Greene?  His  heart  fell  within 
him  as  he  contrasted  this  priceless  achieve- 
ment with  his  sweet,  twittering  lyrics  and 

the 


136 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


the  scores  of  trifling  pamphlets  scribbled  for 
bread,  some  of  them  wrung  from  his  very 
heart-strings.  He  thought  of  the  rewrit- 
ing, patching,  and  making  of  plays  for  the 
fickle  London  play-goers,  and  his  half-suc- 
cess, half-failure  on  the  stage.  Greene,  like 
most  of  the  earlier  dramatists,  was  prob- 
ably an  actor  as  well  as  a  playwright,  and 
in  the  moments  when  his  finer  nature  re- 
asserted itself,  may  have  felt,  like  his  great 
and  successful  rival,  Shakespeare,  the  degra- 
dation of  an  art  the  practitioners  of  which 
were  coupled  on  the  statute  books  with 
"rogues,  vagabonds  and  sturdy  beggars." 
It  was  but  a  broken  career  at  best,  and  the 
mind  of  the  dying  player  reverted  to  the 
day  on  which  he  had  taken  up  this  ignoble 
profession.  He  was  sitting  beside  a  coun- 
try hedge-row  penniless  and  disowned,  and 
crying  out  upon  the  untowardness  of  his 
fate,  when  he  was  accosted  by  a  stranger 
from  the  other  side  of  the  hedge.  When 

the 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


37 


the  stranger  approached  "he  saluted  Robert 
in  this  sort: 

"  '  Gentleman,'  quoth  he,  *  —  for  you  so 
seem  —  I  have  by  chance  heard  you  dis- 
course some  part  of  your  grief,  which  ap- 
peareth  to  be  more  than  you  will  discover, 
or  I  can  conceit.  But  if  you  vouchsafe  such 
simple  comfort  as  my  ability  will  yield, 
assure  yourself  that  I  will  endeavor  to  do 
the  best  that  either  may  procure  your  profit 
or  bring  you  pleasure  :  the  rather,  for  that 
I  suppose  you  are  a  scholar,  and  pity  it  is 
that  men  of  learning  should  live  in  lack.' 

"  Roberto,  wondering  to  hear  such  good 
words,  for  that  this  iron  age  affords  few 
that  esteem  of  virtue,  returned  him  thank- 
ful gratulations,  and  —  urged  by  necessity 
-  uttered  his  present  grief,  beseeching  his 
advice  how  he  might  be  employed. 

"  '  Why  easily,'  quoth  he,  '  and  greatly 
to  your  benefit ;  for  men  of  my  profession 
get  by  scholars  their  whole  living.' 

"  '  What 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


"  *  What  is  your  profession  ?  '  said  Roberto. 

"  *  Truly,  sir,'  said  he,  '  I  am  a  player/ 

"  '  A  player  !  '  quoth  Roberto,  '  I  took  you 
rather  for  a  gentleman  of  great  living;  for  if 
by  outward  habit  men  should  be  censured, 
I  can  tell  you,  you  would  be  taken  for  a 
substantial  man.' 

"  *  So  am  I  where  I  dwell,'  quoth  the 
player,  *  reputed  able  at  my  proper  cost 
to  build  a  Windmill.  What  though  the 
world  once  went  hard  with  me,  when  I 
was  fain  to  carry  my  playing  fardle  a  foot- 
back.  Tempora  mutantur.  I  know  you  know 
the  meaning  of  it  better  than  I,  but  I  thus 
conster  it  :  it  is  otherwise  now  ;  for  my 
very  share  in  playing  apparel  will  not  be 
sold  for  two  hundred  pounds.' 

"  '  Truly,'  said  Roberto,  *  it  is  strange  that 
you  should  so  prosper  in  that  vain  practice, 
for  that  it  seems  to  me  your  voice  is  nothing 
gracious.' 

"  '  Nay  then/  said  the  player,  '  I  mislike 

your 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit         139 


your  judgment.  Why,  I  am  as  famous  for 
Delphrigus,  the  king  of  the  fairies,  as  ever 
was  any  of  my  time.  The  twelve  labors  of 
Hercules  have  I  terribly  thundered  on  the 
stage,  and  placed  three  scenes  of  the  devil 
on  the  highway  to  heaven.' 

"  '  Have  you  so  ? '  said  Roberto,  '  then  I 
pray  you  pardon  me.' 

"  '  Nay  more/  quoth  the  player,  '  I  can 
serve  to  make  a  pretty  speech,  for  I  was  a 
country  author,  passing  at  a  moral ;  for  it 
was  I  that  penned  the  moral  of  Mans  Wit, 
the  Dialogue  of  Dives,  and  for  seven  years' 
space  was  absolute  interpreter  of  the  pup- 
pets. But  now  my  almanac  is  out  of  date  : 

The  people  make  no  estimation, 
Of  morals  teaching  education. 

Was  not  this  pretty  for  a  plain  rime  extem- 
pore ?  If  ye  will  ye  shall  have  more.' 

"  '  Nay,  it  is  enough,'  said  Roberto,  '  but 
how  mean  you  to  use  me  ? ' 

"  *  Why,  sir,  in  making  plays,'  said  the 

other, 


140 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


other,  *  for  which  you  shall  be  well  paid, 
if  you  will  take  the  pains.' 

"  Roberto,  perceiving  no  remedy,  thought 
best  to  respect  his  present  necessity,  to  try 
his  wit,  and  went  with  him  willingly ;  who 
lodged  him  at  the  town's  end  in  a  house  of 
retail,  where  what  happened  our  poet,  you 
shall  hereafter  hear." 

From  this  the  dying  man's  mind  wan- 
dered on  to  his  dramatic  career ;  to  his 
journey  in  Denmark  and  Saxony,  with  the 
Earl  of  Leicester's  players,  the  first  com- 
pany of  English  actors  to  go  abroad,  and 
his  sobriquet  amongst  them  of  "  Robert 
the  Parson."  There,  too,  was  his  failure 
to  catch,  in  his  big,  mouthing,  bombastic 
Alphonsus,  the  secret  of  the  "  mighty  line  " 
and  passion  of  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine,  with 
the  praises  of  which  the  town  was  ringing ; 
and  there  was  his  jealousy  and  the  innuen- 
does of  his  pamphlets  against  another  rival 
that  surpassed  him,  Thomas  Kyd,  who 

wrote 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


141 


wrote  the  original  Hamlet.  Success  ?  Yes, 
there  were  successes  too  ;  for  the  ground- 
lings had  approved  the  "  moral,"  A  Looking 
Glasse  for  London,  which,  in  one  of  his  re- 
pentant moods,  he  had  written  with  the 
Lord  Mayor's  young  son,  Thomas  Lodge, 
and  the  life  and  spirit  of  his  vivacious  un- 
aided plays,  Friar  Bacon  and  George  a  Greene, 
had  maintained  them  in  a  genuine  contem- 
porary popularity.  As  to  his  pamphlets, 
everybody  read  them,  "and  glad  was  that 
printer,"  said  Thomas  Nashe,  "  that  might 
be  so  blest  to  pay  him  deare  for  the  very 
dregs  of  his  wit." 

And  now  he  dwelt  in  memory  upon  his 
fellows  of  the  stage,  their  bickerings  and 
jealousies,  their  talents  and  their  waste  of 
them.  Above  all  towered  the  threatening 
image  of  a  great  and  potent  spirit  that  was 
coming  to  shape  order  out  of  this  chaos  of 
the  Elizabethan  dramatic  world,  to  wrest 
fortune,  position,  and  esteem  from  a  profes- 
sion 


142          A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 

sion  that  had  cost  the  lives  —  and  perchance 
the  souls — of  some  of  its  followers,  and  to 
leave  behind  him  a  monument  of  literary 
glory  unsurpassed  in  any  age.  Greene  could 
not  have  foreknown  all  this,  nor  have  felt 
the  coming  greatness  of  Shakespeare,  save 
as  a  kind  of  portent  betokening  he  knew 
not  what.  But  he  did  know  that  a  rival  had 
arisen  to  snatch  the  public  favor  from  Kyd, 
Marlowe,  and  himself;  and  it  embittered 
his  last  hours  to  think  that  this  man,  who 
was  neither  a  scholar  nor  born  to  even  such 
gentry  as  he  himself  might  boast,  should 
march  on  to  triumphant  success  where  he 
had  so  signally  failed.  In  mingled  envy, 
bitterness,  repentance,  and  despair  was  then 
penned  that  notorious  passage  which  con- 
tains the  first  printed  allusion  to  Shake- 
speare, a  passage  which  must  speak  here 
once  more  for  itself. 

"  To  those  gentlemen,  his  quondam  ac- 
quaintance, that  spend  their  wits  in  making 

plays, 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


plays,  R.  G.  wisheth  a  better  exercise,  and 
wisdom  to  prevent  his  extremities. 

"  If  woful  experience  may  move  you,  gen- 
tlemen, to  beware,  or  unheard  of  wretch- 
edness entreat  you  to  take  heed,  I  doubt 
not  but  you  will  look  back  with  sorrow 
on  your  time  past  and  endeavor  with  re- 
pentance to  spend  that  which  is  to  come. 
Wonder  not  —  for  with  thee  will  I  first 
begin  —  thou  famous  gracer  of  tragedians 
[Marlowe],  that  Greene,  who  hath  said 
with  thee  like  the  fool  in  his  heart,  *  There 
is  no  God,'  should  now  give  glory  unto  his 
greatness.  For  penetrating  is  his  power;  his 
hand  lies  heavy  upon  me,  he  hath  spoken 
with  a  voice  of  thunder,  and  I  have  felt  he 
is  a  God  that  can  punish  enemies.  Why 
should  thy  excellent  wit,  his  gift,  be  so 
blinded,  that  thou  shouldst  give  no  glory 
to  the  giver  ?  Is  it  pestilent  Machiavelian 
policy  that  thou  hast  studied  ?  O  punish 
folly  !  What  are  his  rules  but  mere  con- 
fused 


144 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


fused  mockeries,  able  to  extirpate  in  small 
time  the  generation  of  mankind  ?  .  .  .  And 
wilt  thou,  my  friend,  be  his  disciple  ?  Look 
unto  me,  by  him  persuaded  to  that  liberty, 
and  thou  shalt  find  it  an  infernal  bond- 
age. I  know  the  least  of  my  demerits  merit 
this  miserable  death,  but  wilful  striving 
against  known  truth  exceedeth  all  the  ter- 
rors of  my  soul.  Defer  not,  with  me, 
till  this  last  point  of  extremity,  for  little 
knowest  thou  how  in  the  end  thou  shalt 
be  visited. 

"  With  thee  I  join  young  Juvenal,  that 
biting  satirist,  that  lastly  with  me  together 
writ  a  comedy.  [Lodge,  not  Nashe,  for  the 
Looking  Glasse  for  London  is  a  comedy,  de- 
spite heretical  opinion,  and  a  satire ;  and  it 
was  written  by  Greene  and  Lodge.]  Sweet 
boy,  might  I  advise  thee,  be  advised  and 
get  not  many  enemies  by  bitter  words.  In- 
veigh against  vain  men,  for  thou  canst  do 
it,  no  man  better,  no  man  so  well.  Thou 

hast 


A  Groats  worth  of  Wit          145 

hast  a  liberty  to  reprove  all  and  none  more. 
For  one  being  spoken  to,  all  are  offended  ; 
none  being  blamed,  no  man  is  injured.  .  .  . 

"And  thou  [George  Peele],  no  less  de- 
serving than  the  other  two,  in  some  things 
rarer,  in  none  inferior,  driven,  as  myself,  to 
extreme  shifts,  a  little  have  I  to  say  to  thee  ; 
and  were  it  not  an  idolatrous  oath,  I  would 
swear  by  sweet  Saint  George,  thou  art  un- 
worthy better  hap,  sith  thou  dependest  on 
so  mean  a  stay. 

"  Base-minded  men,  all  three  of  you,  if 
by  my  misery  ye  be  not  warned ;  for  unto 
none  of  you,  like  me,  sought  those  burs  to 
cleave,  those  puppets,  I  mean  [the  actors], 
that  speak  from  our  mouths,  those  antics 
garnished  in  our  colors. 

"  Is  it  not  strange  that  I,  to  whom  they 
all  have  been  beholding ;  is  it  not  like  that 
you,  to  whom  they  all  have  been  behold- 
ing, shall  - —  were  ye  in  that  case  that  I  am 
now  —  be  both  at  once  of  them  forsaken  ? 

Yes 


146 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


Yes  trust  them  not ;  for  there  is  an  upstart 
crow,  beautified  with  our  feathers  that,  with 
his  '  tiger's  heart  wrapped  in  a  player's  hide,' 
supposes  he  is  as  well  able  to  bumbast  out  a 
blank  verse  as  the  best  of  you  ;  and  being 
an  absolute  ^Johannes  factotum,  is,  in  his  own 
conceit,  the  only  Shakescene  in  a  country. 
O,  that  I  might  entreat  your  rare  wits  to 
be  employed  in  more  profitable  courses,  and 
let  those  apes  imitate  your  past  excellence, 
and  never  more  acquaint  them  with  your 
admired  inventions.  I  know  the  best  hus- 
band of  you  all  will  never  prove  an  usurer, 
and  the  kindest  of  them  all  will  never 
prove  a  kind  nurse.  Yet  whilst  you  may, 
seek  you  better  masters,  for  it  is  pity  men 
of  such  rare  wits  should  be  subject  to  the 
pleasures  of  such  rude  grooms." 

According  to  tradition  Robert  Greene 
died  the  next  day,  after  penning  these  pa- 
thetic lines  to  the  wife  he  had  so  cruelly 
wronged : 

"  Sweet 


A  Groatsworth  of  Wit 


"  Sweet  Wife  : 

As  ever  there  was  any  good  will  or 
friendship  between  thee  and  me,  see  this 
bearer,  my  host,  satisfied  of  his  debt  :  I  owe 
him  ten  pound,  and  but  for  him  I  had  per- 
ished in  the  streets.  Forget  and  forgive 
my  wrongs  done  unto  thee,  and  Almighty 
God  have  mercy  on  my  soul.  Farewell  till 
we  meet  in  heaven,  for  on  earth  thou  shalt 
never  see  me  more. 

This  2  of^September 


. 
Written  by  thy  dying  husband 

Robert  Greene." 


VII 
PLAYS    IN    THE    MAKING 


VII 

Plays  in  the  Making 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  find  two  careers 
more  completely  in  contrast  than  those 
of  Shakespeare  and  Thomas  Dekker. 
Beginning  with  almost  equal  disadvantages 
as  to  education  and  place  in  the  world,  the 
greater  poet  rose,  as  we  all  know,  to  repute 
in  "  the  quality  which  he  professed,"  to 
esteem  amongst  his  fellows,  to  great  con- 
temporary fame  as  a  poet  (be  it  ever  re- 
membered), and  to  a  handsome  competence 
earned  by  his  address  and  industry  as  an 
actor,  a  manager,  and  a  playwright.  On  the 
other  hand  amongst  the  many  stories  of 
sorrow,  want,  and  privation  that  belong  to 

English 


Plays  in  the  Making 


English  men  of  letters,  Dekker's  is  almost 
the  saddest  of  all.  The  little  we  know 
of  his  life  presents  a  weary  succession  of 
borrowings,  imprisonments  for  debt,  and 
prayers  for  relief  in  a  wilderness  of  incessant 
toil.  The  writing  of  new  plays,  alone  or 
with  coadjutors  at  least  as  needy  as  him- 
self, the  revamping  of  old  plays,  the  trim- 
ming of  masques  for  Court,  the  additions 
of  prologues,  epilogues,  or  comic  scenes,  the 
penning  of  innumerable  pamphlets  —  the 
incipient  journalism  of  the  day  —  on  sub- 
jects realistic,  satirical,  moral,  and  even  reli- 
gious; these  were  the  tasks  of  an  agile  and 
inventive  brain,  hack-driven  and  goaded  to 
unceasing  effort  through  a  period  of  thirty- 
five  years  to  procure  the  bare  necessities  of 
life.  In  all  this  writing  there  is  much  that 
might  well  be  blotted  out,  not  in  scorn  but 
with  tears  of  compassion.  Yet  if  we  turn 
to  Dekker's  life,  there  remains  on  it  no 
breath  of  aspersion,  and  that  in  an  age  in 

which 


Plays  in  the  Making  153 


which  a  Marlowe  died  a  death  almost  too 
disgraceful  to  relate,  in  which  even  the  au- 
gust form  of  Shakespeare  casts  its  shadow 
of  the  Sonnets  into  the  impenetrable  obscu- 
rity of  which  it  is  perhaps  better  not  too 
curiously  to  peer.  Dekker's  outlook  on  life 
was  sweetened  with  that  charity  which 
comes  to  a  good  man  with  the  chastening  of 
adversity  ;  his  humor  and  his  poetry  welled 
spontaneous  from  a  heart  which  no  sorrow 
could  make  old  nor  privation  wither.  It  is 
inexpressibly  touching  to  hear  such  a  man 
singing : 

Virtue's  branches  wither,  Virtue  pines, 

O  pity,  pity  and  alack  the  time ; 
Vice  doth  flourish,  Vice  in  glory  shines, 

Her  gilded  boughs  above  the  cedar  climb  ; 

apostrophizing  "  sweet  content,"  and  taking 
for  his  motto  : 

Work  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace ; 
Honest  labor  bears  a  lovely  face  ; 

Then  hey  nonny  nonny,  hey  nonny  nonny  ! 

There 


Plays  in  the  Making 


There  is  more  of  the  sigh  than  of  song  in 
this  little  meaningless  refrain  ;  the  sigh  of  a 
heart  in  troubled  equilibrium  between  the 
impelling  force  which  urges  liberty  and  the 
inexorable  restraint  of  duty.  The  song  is 
the  song  of  a  prisoned  bird. 

The  extraordinary  diversity  of  the  careers 
of  Shakespeare  and  Dekker  is  not  explain- 
able wholly  by  dissimilarity  in  their  per- 
sonal characters.  It  is  dependent  as  well 
upon  the  conjunction  of  circumstances  that 
made  Shakespeare  the  most  popular  drama- 
tist of  the  most  successful  theatrical  com- 
pany of  the  time  and  that  threw  Dekker, 
on  the  other  hand,  into  the  employ  of 
Henslowe  and  into  what  became  the  slav- 
ery of  a  lifetime.  Philip  Henslowe  was 
one  of  those  shrewd,  hard  men  of  common 
stock  and  coarse  fibre  who  seem  predes- 
tined to  acquire  riches.  His  illiteracy  is 
almost  beyond  belief,  when  we  consider 
his  years  of  association  with  the  stage ;  but 

his 


Plays  in  the  Making  155 

his  astuteness  and  ability  to  drive  a  hard 
bargain  were  held  in  doubt  by  no  one  who 
had  ever  had  dealings  with  him.  Henslowe 
was  engaged  in  various  trading  enterprises 
before  he  hit  upon  theatrical  management, 
and  was  variously  a  dealer  in  wood,  a  dyer, 
the  owner  of  a  starch  factory,  a  purchaser 
and  seller  of  real  estate,  an  inn  or  lodging- 
house  keeper,  and  a  pawnbroker.  He  is 
described  as  unscrupulously  hard  to  his  ten- 
ants, though  apparently  careful  at  all  times 
to  keep  well  within  the  bounds  of  the  law. 
He  thrived  in  his  ventures  and,  emulous  of 
respectability,  figured  as  a  vestryman  and 
churchwarden  of  St.  Saviour's,  Southwark. 
Between  the  years  1584  and  1616,  the  year 
of  his  death,  Henslowe  was  interested  in 
some  five  or  six  theatres,  of  which  the  Rose, 
the  Swan,  the  Fortune,  and  the  playhouse 
at  Newington  Butts  were  the  chief.  In 
his  management  of  these  houses  he  must 
have  been  greatly  assisted  by  the  famous 

actor, 


iS6 


Plays  in  the  Making 


actor,  Edward  Alleyn,  who  had  married  his 
step-daughter  and  entered  into  a  kind  of 
partnership  with  him.  But  Henslowe  had 
an  ambition  even  above  playhouses.  After 
much  bargaining  and  negotiation  he  con- 
trived to  obtain,  soon  after  the  accession  of 
James,  "  the  mastership  of  the  royal  game 
of  bears,  bulls,  and  mastiff  dogs,"  thus  be- 
coming an  officer  of  the  crown.  This  office 
he  retained  till  his  death,  and  he  transmitted 
it  to  Alleyn. 

Most  of  our  information  about  Henslowe 
and  his  traffic  with  the  stage  has  come  down 
to  us  in  a  manuscript  commonly  called 
Henslowe 's  Diary.  It  is  really  not  a  diary 
at  all,  but  a  species  of  account-book,  con- 
taining memoranda  of  matters  of  interest 
to  Henslowe  in  his  conduct  of  the  man- 
agement of  his  several  theatres.  Neither 
the  name  of  Shakespeare  nor  that  of  Beau- 
mont nor  of  Fletcher,  occurs  in  it.  But  it 
contains  the  names  of  nearly  every  other 

dramatist 


Plays  in  the  Making 


dramatist  of  importance  during  the  heyday 
of  the  Elizabethan  age  and  many  of  their 
autographs.  The  volume  is  a  large  folio, 
vellum  covered,  and  soiled  and  grimy  with 
use.  It  is  mostly  in  the  illiterate  hand- 
writing of  Henslowe  himself,  although 
entries  by  other  scribes,  clerks,  and  parties 
to  agreements  and  receipts  therein  noted 
are  of  frequent  occurrence.  Not  only  is 
the  manuscript  badly  written  and  execrably 
spelled,  but  the  entries  are  much  confused 
through  the  evident  desire  of  its  owner  to 
utilize  every  blank  page.  The  book  de- 
scended to  Alleyn  by  will,  who  in  turn  left 
it  to  the  College  of  God's  Gift,  which  he 
had  charitably  founded  with  his  own  and 
Henslowe's  money,  where  it  still  remains  at 
Dulwich.  Henslowe's  Diary  has  long  been 
known  to  scholars  and  antiquaries,  and  has 
unfortunately  suffered  from  this  acquaint- 
ance, having  lost  some  of  its  leaves  by  tear- 
ing and  some  of  its  autographs  by  excision, 

besides 


Plays  in  the  Making 


besides  showing,  what  is  worse,  the  inter- 
polations of  the  forger. 

As  owner  and  manager  of  so  many  thea- 
tres, Henslowe  was  concerned  with  the 
procuring  of  suitable  plays,  their  revision 
and  adaptation  for  given  performances,  with 
the  purchase  of  materials  for  his  playhouses 
and  the  making  of  contracts  for  the  build- 
ing of  them,  with  properties,  costumes,  and 
the  staging  of  plays,  and  with  payments  to 
actors  and  "  sharers,"  as  the  partners  in  the 
theatrical  companies  were  called.  All  of 
these  matters  are  abundantly  illustrated  in 
the  Diary,  together  with  others  kindred  but 
not  so  obvious.  From  being  a  mere  mana- 
ger, Henslowe  came  insensibly  to  be  a  sort 
of  middle-man  between  the  company  and 
the  playwrights,  and  banker  or  money- 
lender for  those  in  his  employ,  standing 
towards  them  at  times  in  the  relation  of 
a  patron.  Thus  we  find  him  advancing 
money  "  to  harey  chettell  to  paye  his 

charges 


Plays  in  the  Making  159 


charges  in  the  marshallsey  "  and  "  to  disc- 
charge  Mr.  Dicker  [Dekker]  out  of  the 
counter  [the  prison  for  debtors]  in  powl- 
trey."  In  like  straits,  Field  writes  to  him: 
"  Father  Hinchlow,  I  am  unluckily  taken 
on  an  execution  of  30'.  I  can  be  dis- 
charged for  xx1.  x1  I  have  from  a  friend  : 
if  now,  in  my  extremity,  you  will  venture 
x1  more  for  my  liberty,  I  will  never  share 
penny  till  you  have  it  again,  and  make  any 
satisfaction,  by  writing  or  otherwise,  that 
you  can  devise."  Henslowe's  method  of 
binding  needy  playwrights  to  his  service 
was  as  simple  as  it  was  effective.  On  the 
submission  and  acceptance  of  a  plan  for  a 
play  an  advance  of  money  was  easily  ob- 
tained, a  written  memorandum  of  which 
was  made  and  signed  by  the  playwright. 
Further  advances  of  money  were  dependent 
upon  the  precise  performance  of  the  play- 
wright's part  of  the  contract ;  but  all  ad- 
vances were  so  contrived  as  to  leave  the 

playwright 


i6o 


Plays  in  the  Making 


playwright  always  in  Henslowe's  debt  and 
the  obligation  between  the  parties  was  never 
entirely  cancelled.  Many  a  piteous  appeal 
for  money  is  preserved  among  the  Alleyn 
papers  at  Dulwich,  by  which  the  inner 
workings  of  this  Elizabethan  sweating  sys- 
tem for  the  manufacture  of  plays  is  dis- 
closed. "  Sir,  if  you  do  not  like  this  play 
when  it  is  read,"  writes  the  obscure  drama- 
tist, Robert  Daborne,  "  you  shall  have  the 
other,  which  shall  be  finished  with  all  ex- 
pedition ;  for,  before  God,  this  is  a  good 
one,  and  will  give  you  content :  howsoever 
you  shall  never  lose  a  farthing  by  me, 
wherefor  I  pray  you  misdoubt  me  not;  .  .  . 
and,  I  pray  you,  send  me  ten  shillings." 
Again :  "  Sir,  your  man  was  with  me,  who 
found  me  writing  the  last  scene,  which  I 
had  thought  to  have  brought  you  to-night, 
but  it  will  be  late  ere  I  can  do  it ;  and  being 
Saturday  night,  my  occasion  urges  me  to 
request  you  spare  me  ten  shillings  more." 

And 


Plays  in  the  Making 


And  lastly  in  great  urgency  :  "  Mr.  Hinch- 
low,  of  all  friendship  let  me  be  beholding 
to  you  for  one  twenty  shillings,  which  shall 
be  the  last  I  will  request  till  the  play  be 
fully  by  us  ended." 

Irv  the  consideration  of  plots  for  new 
plays  Henslowe  employed  the  expert  advice 
of  Alleyn.  Thus  Daborne  writes  Henslowe 
that  a  promised  play  "  shall  come  upon  the 
neck  of  this  new  play  they  are  now  study- 
ing ;  if  you  please  to  appoint  any  hour  to 
read  to  Mr.  Alleyn,  I  will  not  fail,  nor 
after  this  day  lose  any  time  til  it  be  con- 
cluded." The  bids  of  rival  companies  are 
at  times  quoted  to  raise  the  price  of  plays, 
a  device  which  does  not  seem  to  have  proved 
very  effective,  but  which  resulted  in  an 
agreement  by  one  playwright  to  write  only 
for  Henslowe's  company.  Instances  are  not 
wanting  in  which  the  subtle  old  manager 
appears  to  have  been  taken  in  by  writers 
who  would  not  hesitate,  could  it  be  safely 

done, 


1 62  Plays  in  the  Making 

done,  to  palm  off  old  productions  for  new 
and  thus  perhaps  quit  old  scores. 

From  these  battered  pages  we  obtain 
thus  a  momentary  picture  of  a  busy  public 
mart  for  the  buying  and  selling  of  plays ; 
a  glimpse  of  the  wires  that  moved  the  pup- 
pets of  the  time  :  puppets  that  played  their 
parts  in  emulation  of  the  puppets  of  Shake- 
speare, that  strained  to  rival  him  in  his 
might,  nay  held  their  own  in  the  judg- 
ment of  the  contemporary  play-goer  to  the 
enrichment  of  Henslowe.  Henslowe's  pa- 
trons seem  to  have  demanded  a  new  play 
about  once  a  fortnight,  contenting  them- 
selves meanwhile  with  plays  which  had  al- 
ready received  their  suffrage.  It  was  not 
customary  to  repeat  a  play  on  successive 
days.  Popular  plays  were  repeated,  how- 
ever, at  not  infrequent  intervals ;  thus  Mar- 
lowe's Faustus  was  performed  fifteen  times 
within  a  twelvemonth,  his  yew  of  Malta 
and  T amburlaine  nearly  as  often,  both  parts 

of 


Plays  in  the  Making  163 


of  the  last  play  being  given  on  two  occa- 
sions on  successive  days.  Besides  these 
plays  of  Marlowe,  Kyd's  Spanish  'Tragedy 
and  a  play  which  Henslowe  calls  "  hary 
vj  "  enjoyed  the  greatest  popularity  among 
the  plays  still  extant  and  enumerated  by 
Henslowe.  It  was  of  scenes  in  this  play  that 
Thomas  Nashe  wrote,  in  a  pamphlet  con- 
temporary with  these  entries  of  Henslowe  : 
"  Nay  what  if  I  prove  plays  to  be  no  ex- 
treme, but  a  rare  exercise  of  virtue  ?  First, 
for  the  subject  of  them,  for  the  most  part 
it  is  borrowed  out  of  our  English  chroni- 
clers, wherein  our  forefathers'  valiant  acts 
(that  have  lain  long  buried  in  rusty  brass 
and  worm-eaten  books)  are  revived,  and 
they  themselves  raised  from  the  grave  of 
oblivion  and  brought  to  plead  their  aged 
honors  in  open  presence ;  than  which  what 
can  be  a  sharper  reproof  of  these  degenerate 
effeminate  days  of  ours  ?  How  would  it 
have  joyed  brave  Talbot,  the  terror  of  the 

French, 


164 


Plays  in  the  Making 


French,  to  think  that  after  he  had  lain  two 
hundred  years  in  his  tomb,  he  should  tri- 
umph again  on  the  stage,  and  have  his  bones 
new  embalmed  with  the  tears  of  ten  thou- 
sand spectators  at  least  (at  several  times), 
who,  in  the  tragedian  that  represents  his 
person,  imagine  they  behold  him  fresh 
bleeding."  The  most  captious  critics  grant 
to  Shakespeare  these  scenes  of  an  old  play 
refashioned  by  his  hand  and  raised  to  an 
immediate  and  overwhelming  popularity. 
The  Elizabethan  play-goer  with  unerring 
instinct  singled  out  for  his  signal  approval 
the  great  dramas  of  Kyd  and  Marlowe  and 
the  unsurpassable  work  of  the  master  play- 
wright. 

The  lists  of  Henslowe  exhibit  many  titles 
similar  to  those  borne  by  plays  of  Shake- 
speare. We  meet  with  an  Adronicus,  a 
"  Venesyons  ^Venice  s\  comodey"  a  "  Seser  and 
Pompey,"  and  a  "  Harry  the  V"  Neither 
identity  of  title  nor  sameness  of  plot  need 

mislead 


Plays  in  the  Making  165 


mislead  the  reader  of  Elizabethan  litera- 
ture, who  soon  learns  that  there  are  some 
half  dozen  plays,  Latin  and  English,  on 
Julius  Caesar  and  on  Richard  the  Third, 
three  Romeos  and  Antonies,  and  at  least 
two  Hamlets,  Timons,  and  Lears.  When  a 
character  caught  the  public  fancy,  his  story 
was  followed  up  in  a  second  play,  at  times 
even  in  a  third.  It  is  thus  that  the  career  of 
the  ideal  Englishman  of  action,  King  Henry 
the  Fifth,  is  carried  out  in  the  trilogy  of  the 
two  parts  of  Henry  the  Fourth  and  Henry 
the  Fifth.  Falstaff,  a  great  popular  favor- 
ite, runs  through  the  same  three  dramas  to 
appear  once  more  in  the  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,  according  to  a  pleasing  tradition 
upon  the  express  wish  of  the  Queen  to  be- 
hold the  fat  knight  in  love.  But  not  only 
was  a  success  of  this  kind  followed  up  by 
those  who  had  wrought  it,  it  was  emu- 
lated by  humbler  rivals  in  the  imitation 
of  the  subjects,  personages,  and  situations  of 

the 


i66 


Plays  in  the  Making 


the  successful  drama.  The  character  of  Fal- 
staff  was  originally  represented  under  the 
name  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  a  dissolute  com- 
panion (not  otherwise  distinguished)  of  the 
wild  young  prince  in  an  old  play  on  the 
Famous  Victories  of  Henry  the  Fifth.  Shake- 
speare at  first  retained  the  name  Oldcastle, 
as  appears  from  certain  traces  in  the  quarto 
edition  of  Henry  the  Fourth  and  from  the 
prince's  punning  reply  to  FalstafF's  ques- 
tion :  "  Is  not  my  hostess  of  the  tavern  a 
most  sweet  wench  ?  —  As  the  honey  of  Hy- 
bla,  my  old  lad  of  the  castle."  Shakespeare 
afterwards  substituted  the  name  FalstafF,  as 
better  fitted  to  "  the  gross  knight "  than 
that  of  Oldcastle,  the  illustrious  Lollard 
of  history.  On  the  basis  of  these  circum- 
stances and  the  great  popularity  of  Henry 
the  Fourth,  Henslowe  procured  the  writing 
by  several  of  his  poets  of  a  play  called  the 
First  Part  of  Sir  "John  Oldcastle,  in  which 
ostentatious  justice  is  done  to  the  memory 

of 


Plays  in  the  Making 


167 


of  the  famous  old  Lollard,  and  we  are  in- 
formed in  the  prologue : 

It  is  no  pamper'd  glutton  we  present, 
Nor  aged  counsellor  to  youthful  sin, 
But  one  whose  virtues  shone  above  the  rest, 
A  valiant  martyr  and  a  virtuous  peer. 

In  this  play  King  Henry  may  be  seen 
once  more  in  contact  incognito  with  the  low 
life  of  London,  robbed  of  his  purse  and 
winning  back  his  loss  from  the  thief  with 
dice  on  a  drum-head.  And  here,  too,  a  di- 
rect bid  is  made  to  rival  the  popularity  of 
Falstaff  in  the  person  of  a  witty,  knavish 
priest,  Sir  John,  the  Parson  of  Wrotham. 
Sir  Jo/in  Oldcastle  is  a  readable  play  yet, 
and  shows  what  four  clever  men  —  among 
them  no  less  a  person  than  Michael  Dray- 
ton,  the  author  of  the  Polyolbion  —  could  do 
to  stem  for  the  moment  the  overwhelm- 
ing current  of  Shakespeare's  popularity. 

What  Shakespeare  received  in  money  for 
a  single  play  we  have  no  means  of  learning ; 

we 


i68 


Plays  in  the  Making 


we  know  that  he  came  to  London  a  poor 
lad  and  retired  with  a  handsome  compe- 
tence some  twenty  years  later,  realizing  the 
greatest  fortune  which  had  been  made  out 
of  literature  directly  or  indirectly  until  we 
come  to  the  golden  days  of  Scott  and  his 
Wa'verley  Novels.  As  to  Shakespeare's  rivals 
in  the  thraldom  of  Henslowe,  it  appears  that 
a  play  might  be  purchased  of  Chettle  or 
Heywood  for  as  small  a  sum  as  four  or  six 
pounds,  while  Chapman,  Dekker,  or  Jon- 
son  might  demand  as  much  as  ten  or  eleven 
pounds  and  get  it.  The  disparity  between 
the  price  of  a  play  and  the  cost  of  staging 
it  has  often  been  dilated  upon.  For  while 
properties  and  scenes  in  the  modern  accep- 
tation of  that  term  were  few  and  simple, 
the  costumes  of  the  actors  were  often  of 
great  richness  and  costliness.  It  has  been 
related  that  Heywood  received  less  for  his 
wholly  admirable  A  Woman  Killed  with 
Kindness  than  the  company  laid  out  for  the 

gown 


Plays  in  the  Making 


169 


gown  of  the  heroine,  and  that  the  costumes 
and  caparisons  of  a  play  called  Cardinal 
Wolsey  must  have  reached  a  total  of  more 
than  two  hundred  pounds.  When  a  play 
was  very  successful,  as  was  Oldcastle,  men- 
tioned above,  Henslowe  occasionally  opened 
his  heart  and  presented  the  authors  with  a 
gratuity.  Ten  shillings  was  thus  distributed 
among  the  four  authors  of  that  play,  and 
this  ridiculous  sum  may  be  regarded  as  the 
height  of  Henslowe's  bounty  on  these  occa- 
sions. Even  such  matters  are  duly  charged 
to  the  company  by  their  thrifty  manager, 
as  appears  from  such  an  entry  as  this  : 
"  Layd  owt  for  the  company,  at  the  mer- 
mayd,  when  we  weare  at  owre  agrement, 
the  21  of  aguste  1602,  toward  our  super, 
the  sum  of  ixs." 

In  this  mart  of  Henslowe's  some  of  the 
greatest  dramatists  served  their  apprentice- 
ship to  the  trade.  The  old  manager  was  a 
notable  respecter  of  persons  where  fortune 

or 


Plays  in  the  Making 


or  success  was  concerned.  Chapman,  who 
was  born  a  gentleman,  is  generally  referred 
to  in  the  Diary  as  "  Mr.  Chapman,"  as  is 
"  Mr.  Maxton  [Marston]  the  newe  poete  ;" 
but  "  Harey  Chettell,"  "  Samwell  Rowley/' 
and  "  Thomas  Dickers  "  were  not  usually 
treated  with  such  a  show  of  respect.  The 
greater  men  came  out  of  this  thraldom, 
Jonson  to  the  post  of  laureate  and  enter- 
tainer of  the  Court,  Chapman  to  fame  as 
the  great  translator  of  Homer.  It  is  not  to 
be  wondered  that  Drayton,  when  the  pa- 
tronage of  "great  ones"  and  his  talents  as  a 
poet  had  raised  him  to  repute,  tried  to  cover 
up  the  disgraceful  time  of  his  bondage  to 
Henslowe  and  refrained  from  avowing  the 
authorship  of  any  work  written  under  such 
blighting  conditions.  As  to  the  lesser  men, 
many  of  them  died,  as  they  had  lived,  with 
the  clutch  of  Henslowe  and  poverty  at  their 
throats. 


VIII 

WHEN    MUSIC    AND   SWEET 
POETRY   AGREE 


173 

VIII 

When  Music  and  Sweet 

Poetry  agree 

If  Music  and  sweet  Poetry  agree, 

As  they  must  needs,  the  Sister  and  the  Brother, 

Then  must  the  love  be  great  'twixt  thee  and  me, 

Because  thou  lov'st  the  one  and  I  the  other. 

Dowland  to  thee  is  dear,  whose  heavenly  touch 

Upon  the  Lute  doth  ravish  human  sense  ; 

Spenser  to  me,  whose  deep  conceit  is  such, 

As  passing  all  conceit,  needs  no  defence. 

Thou  lov'st  to  hear  the  sweet  melodious  sound, 

That  Phoebus'  lute,  the  queen  of  music,  makes  ; 

And  I  in  deep  delight  am  chiefly  drowned, 

Whenas  himself  to  singing  he  betakes. 

One  god  is  god  of  both,  as  poets  feign  ; 

One  knight  loves  both,  and  both  in  thee  remain. 

IT 

r74  When  Music  and 

IT  was  thus  that  one  of  the  most  tuneful 
of  Elizabethan  lyrists,  Richard  Barn- 
field,  addressed  a  bosom  friend.  Nor 
can  we  wonder,  considering  Shakespeare's 
love  of  the  sister  art  of  music  and  the  ex- 
cellence of  this  sonnet,  that  it  has  passed 
current,  until  lately,  as  the  work  of  the 
master  dramatist  himself.  Shakespeare's  age 
was  nothing  if  not  musical.  No  gentleman's 
or  lady's  education  was  complete  without  a 
knowledge  of  plain-song  and  a  competent 
skill  on  cittern  or  lute,  on  the  recorder  or 
the  "viol  de  gamboys,"  all  of  them  popu- 
lar musical  instruments  of  the  day.  To  be 
unable  to  bear  a  part  in  singing  at  sight  or 
to  "  descant,"  as  it  was  called,  on  a  simple 
melody,  was  to  imperil  the  genuineness  of 
a  man's  gentility  ;  and  not  to  know  Byrd, 
Morley,  or  Campion,  the  composers,  and 
Dowland,  the  famous  lutenist,  was  to  be- 
tray oneself  uncultured  indeed.  Even  among 
the  middle  and  lower  classes,  the  carter  had 

his 


Sweet  Poetry  agree  175 


his  catches,  the  tinker  his  rounds  ;  the  very 
beggars  sang  ballads  in  the  streets  and  so 
proverbially  expert  were  the  weavers  in 
swreet  singing  that  "  to  draw  a  soul  out  of 
a  weaver  "  was  to  sing  beyond  criticism  and 
comparison.  There  was  music  at  the  thea- 
tres, at  Court,  and  at  home ;  music  out-doors 
and  in  church.  The  dawn  was  ushered 
in  with  "  hunts-ups  "  and  "  aubades,"  and 
the  night  rendered  melodious  with  "seras" 
and  serenades.  There  were  ballads  for  daily 
singing,  carols  for  Christmas,  "  dumps  "  for 
despondency,  and  merry  burdens  for  May- 
day. Foundlings  were  trained  in  the  art  of 
song  that  from  their  musical  abilities  they 
might  the  more  readily  procure  places  as 
servants.  A  fool  with  "a  good  breast,"  as  a 
fine  voice  was  then  called,  might  demand 
a  noble  for  his  patron.  Royalty  set  this 
musical  example.  Aside  from  the  singing 
children  of  her  chapel  and  the  occasional 
musicians  that  figured  at  court  entertain- 
ments 


176 


When  Music  and 


ments  and  plays,  "  Elizabeth  was  accus- 
tomed," we  are  told,  "to  be  regaled  dur- 
ing dinner  with  twelve  trumpets  and  two 
kettle-drums ;  which  together  with  fifes, 
cornets  and  side  drums,  made  the  hall  ring 
for  half  an  hour  together."  Nor  was  "  the 
Queenes  noise,"  as  the  quaint  phrase  went, 
always  equally  robust.  Elizabeth  loved 
song  and  was  herself  "  well  scene  "  in  the 
virginals,  an  instrument,  through  spinet  and 
harpsichord,  to  develop  into  the  modern 
pianoforte.  The  Queen's  father  before  her 
had  written  songs  and  sung  in  his  own 
glees. 

Modern  musicians  sometimes  set  beauti- 
ful lyrics  to  music  ;  but  for  the  most  part 
we  esteem  any  stuff  good  enough  to  sing. 
Such  was  not  the  Elizabethan  feeling;  and 
it  was  conceived  not  only  that  a  poem  might 
be  clothed  in  a  fitting  or  unfitting  raiment 
of  song,  but  that  a  lovely  air  deserved  to 
carry  fair  freight  on  its  clear  and  liquid 

stream  ; 


Sweet  Poetry  agree  177 


stream ;  for,  to  vary  the  figure,  it  was  a 
conviction  that  out  of  the  wedded  arts  a 
completer  beauty  might  arise.  The  lyric, 
when  all  has  been  said,  is  cousin-german 
to  vocal  song,  and  many  an  Elizabethan 
lyrist  thought  doubtless  as  he  wrote  that 
his  poetry  would  be  sung  as  well  as  read. 
"  These  poems,"  prints  old  Gascoigne  in 
a  marginal  note  to  his  Posies,  "have  verie 
sweete  notes  adapted  unto  them,  the  which 
I  would  you  should  also  enjoy  as  well  as 
myself."  But  the  Elizabethan  stopped  not 
at  lyrics,  but  set  other  forms  of  poetry  to 
music.  Thus  Robert  Southwell,  the  Jesuit 
father,  proposed  that  his  fervid,  if  ingen- 
iously "conceited,"  poetry  should  be  sung; 
and  so  late  as  1622  John  Hanay,  a  very 
small  and  obscure  poetling,  furnished  music 
for  the  first  stanza  of  his  poem  Philomela, 
with  the  evident  and  unabashed  intent  that 
the  remaining  ninety  and  nine  stanzas  be 
sung,  all  to  the  same  tune.  Nor  was  this  so 

very 


178 


When  Music  and 


very  eccentric;  narrative  poems  of  consider- 
able length  must  have  been  popularly  sung 
far  into  literary  times.  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
writes  in  his  Defence  of  Poesie :  "  I  never 
heard  the  old  song  of  Percy  and  Douglas 
[C/ie-vy  Chase^  that  I  found  not  my  heart 
moved  more  than  with  a  trumpet ;  and 
yet  it  is  sung  by  some  blind  crowder, 
with  no  rougher  voice  than  rude  style." 
And  the  rhetorical  courtier,  Puttenham, 
declares  :  "  The  over  busy  and  too  speedy 
return  of  one  manner  of  tune  doth  too 
much  annoy  and,  as  it  were,  glut  the  ear, 
unless  it  be  small  and  popular  musics  sung 
by  those  Cantabanqui  upon  benches  and 
barrel  heads,  where  they  have  none  other 
audience  than  boys  and  country  fellows 
that  pass  by  them  in  the  street ;  or  else 
by  blind  harpers,  or  such  like  tavern  min- 
strels that  give  a  fit  of  mirth  for  a  groat ; 
and  their  matter  being  for  the  most  part 
stories  of  old  time,  as  the  'Tale  of  Sir 

Thopas, 


Sweet  Poetry  agree 


79 


Thopas,  Bevis  of  Southampton,  Guy  of  War- 
wick, Adam  Bell,  and  Clym  of  the  C/oug/i, 
and  such  other  old  romances  or  historical 
rimes,  made  purposely  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  common  people  at  Christmas 
dinners,  and  bride-ales,  and  in  taverns  and 
alehouses,  and  such  other  places  of  base 
resort." 

The  modern  practitioner  in  music  who 
makes  his  living  by  the  practical  teaching 
of  his  art  and  professes  —  perhaps  knows 
—  nothing  of  the  science  of  counterpoint, 
must  have  been  entirely  unknown  to  the 
age  of  Elizabeth.  Or,  if  known,  he  was 
probably  regarded  in  the  category  with 
fencing  and  dancing  masters.  Indeed  the 
piper,  fiddler,  or  other  common  musician 
was  held  in  great  contempt.  Mercutio 
meets  Tybalt's  taunt,  "  Thou  consort'st 
with  Romeo,"  with  the  rejoinder  :  "  Con- 
sort !  What,  dost  thou  make  us  minstrels  ? 
And  thou  make  minstrels  of  us,  look  for 

nothing 


i8o 


When  Music  and 


nothing  but  discords  :  here 's  my  fiddle- 
stick ;  here  's  that  shall  make  you  dance. 
Zounds,  consort !  "  And  Prince  Hal  is  re- 
lated to  have  once  broken  Falstaff's  head 
for  likening  his  father,  the  King,  to  "  a 
singing-man  of  Windsor."  On  the  other 
hand  famous  performers  on  the  lute  and 
other  instruments  there  were,  and  some  of 
these  were  held  in  high  repute.  Some  of 
them  even  travelled  abroad  to  foreign 
courts  to  exhibit  their  English  skill.  Apart 
from  mere  "  cantabanqui"  and  minstrels, 
the  Elizabethan  musician  was  a  man  of  re- 
finement and  learning,  versed  in  ancient 
lore  as  well  as  modern  art,  and  claiming, 
like  the  Elizabethan  poet,  the  University  as 
his  nesting-place. 

The  popularity  of  song-books  in  this 
era  was  extraordinary  and  unexampled,  ex- 
tending, should  a  list  be  made,  to  some 
seventy  titles  between  the  date  of  the  Ar- 
mada and  that  of  the  death  of  Shakespeare. 

There 


Sweet  Poetry  agree 


181 


There  were  fashions  in  poetry  as  well  as  in 
the  costume  of  the  time,  and  both  were 
quick  to  rise  and  quick  to  fall.  In  the 
eighties  poetry  was  "all  for  pastorals,"  and 
"that  smooth  song,  *  Come  live  with  me 
and  be  my  love,'  which  was  made  by  Kit 
Marlowe,"  is  the  measure  at  once  of  a  quaint 
taste  and  a  perfect  achievement  in  its  dainty 
kind.  In  the  nineties  came  the  sonneteers 
with  their  sugared  similitudes,  a  cult  of 
Petrarch,  beauty  and  "  conceit ;  "  artificial 
and  repetitious  for  the  most  part,  yet  reach- 
ing real  passion  in  Sidney,  supreme  beauty  in 
Spenser,  and  sounding  depths  beyond  mere 
passing  fashion,  if  not  beyond  all  other 
lyrical  poetry,  in  the  superlative  sonnets  of 
Shakespeare.  With  the  waning  of  the  popu- 
larity of  the  sonnet,  the  writing  of  words 
intended  to  be  set  to  music  succeeded  as 
the  lyrical  vogue  in  England,  and  was  long 
to  continue  so. 

"  I  endeavored  to  get   into  my  hands  all 

such 


1 82  When  Music  and 

such  English  songs  as  were  praiseworthy, 
and  amongst  others  I  had  the  happiness  to 
find  in  the  hands  of  some  of  my  friends 
certain  Italian  madrigals  translated  most 
of  them  five  year  ago  by  a  gentleman  for 
his  private  delight."  Thus  writes  Nicholas 
Yong,  a  London  merchant  in  1588,  an 
enthusiastic  collector  of  "  songs  in  part," 
whose  house  was  musical  with  their  fre- 
quent performance,  and  who  employed  his 
correspondents  in  Italy  to  seek  out  and  send 
him  the  compositions  of  Marenzio,  Con- 
verso,  and  other  Italian  writers  of  vocal 
music. 

The  Elizabethan  song-book  supplied 
both  music  and  words,  and  was  often  so 
printed  that  three  or  four  singers  might  sit 
on  opposite  sides  of  a  small  table,  placing 
the  book  open  before  them,  and  sing  each 
from  his  own  part,  all  printed  on  the  same 
page.  The  secular  song-book  was  made  up 
usually  of  madrigals  or  of  "ayres."  An  ayre 

was 


Sweet  Poetry  agree 


183 


was  a  simple  musical  composition  for  one 
voice  or  more  accompanied  by  instruments  ; 
a  madrigal  was  a  far  more  complicated 
affair.  Not  only  was  the  madrigal  written 
for  voices  alone,  but  it  was  contrapuntal, 
that  is,  based  on  an  elaborate  system  of 
themes  and  counter-themes  interwoven  and 
entwined,  of  which  the  suites  of  Scarlotti 
and  Palestrina  and  the  fugues  of  John 
Sebastian  Bach  are  later  examples.  It  was 
thus  that  Thomas  Morley  commented  on 
the  structure  of  the  madrigal :  "  As  for 
the  music,  it  is,  next  unto  the  motet,  the 
most  artificial  and  to  men  of  understand- 
ing the  most  delightful.  If  therefore  you 
will  compose  in  this  kind  you  must  possess 
yourself  with  an  amorous  humor,  (for  in 
no  composition  shall  you  prove  admirable 
except  you  put  on  and  possess  yourself 
wholly  with  that  vein  wherein  you  com- 
pose) so  that  you  must  in  your  music  be 
wavering  like  the  wind,  sometimes  wanton, 

sometimes 


When  Music  and 


sometimes  drooping,  sometime  grave  and 
staid,  otherwhile  effeminate ;  you  may  retain 
points  and  revert  them,  use  tri-plays  and 
show  the  uttermost  of  your  variety,  and  the 
more  variety  you  show  the  better  shall  you 
please." 

But  if  the  music  of  the  madrigal  was 
elaborate,  the  words  were  simplicity  itself. 
A  tiny  gem  of  verse  is  the  madrigal,  con- 
veying one  thought  directly  and  daintily 
expressed  in  a  succession  of  equal  sentences. 
Its  very  words  are  in  the  nature  of  song. 

Faustina  hath  the  fairer  face, 
And  Phyllida  the  feater  grace ; 

Both  have  mine  eye  enriched  : 
This  sings  full  sweetly  with  her  voice  ; 
Her  ringers  make  as  sweet  a  noise  : 

Both  have  mine  ear  bewitched. 
Ah  me  !   sith  Fates  have  so  provided, 
My  heart,  alas,  must  be  divided. 

At  times  the  madrigal  contains  much  of 
the  essence  of  the  epigram,  as  in  Michael 

Drayton's 


Sweet  Poetry  agree  185 


Drayton's  lines   addressed   to   Morley,  the 
celebrated  composer  mentioned  above  : 

Such  was  old  Orpheus'  cunning, 

That  senseless  things  drew  near  him, 
And  herds  of  beasts  to  hear  him. 

The  stock,  the  stone,  the  ox,  the  ass,  came  running. 
Morley,  but  this  enchanting 
To  thee,  to  be  the  music  god,  is  wanting  j 

And  yet  thou  needst  not  fear  him ; 

Draw  thou  the  shepherds  still,  and  bonny  lasses, 
And  envy  him  not  stocks,  stones,  oxen,  asses. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  free 
Elizabethan  Muse  was  long  to  be  confined 
in  such  gossamer  trammels  as  these.  Sidney 
had  already  written  the  lines,  "  My  true 
love  hath  my  heart,"  so  charming  in  their 
simplicity,  and  in  Shakespeare's  "  Take, 
O  take,  those  lips  away,"  and  "  Full  fathom 
five  my  father  lies,"  we  have  more  exqui- 
site words  for  the  madrigal  (albeit  freer  in 
form)  than  all  the  Italian  poets  could  con- 
trive among  them. 

The  ayre  afforded  a  freer  and  happier 

union 


1 86  When  Music  and 


union  of  the  arts  than  did  the  madrigal 
with  its  contrapuntal  music  and  its  brief 
range  of  words  and  ideas.  The  Elizabethan 
ayre  set  to  the  successive  stanzas  of  a  fine 
lyric  must  be  regarded  as  the  highest  tri- 
umph of  combined  musical  and  poetic  art. 
And  lovely  as  the  enchanting  words  of  the 
best  lyrics  are  —  those  in  the  song-books 
of  Campion,  Jones,  Morley,  Hume,  Wil- 
son, and  many  more  —  they  were  not  un- 
worthily set.  Some  of  the  music  has  been 
preserved  by  Chappell  and  others.  It  seems 
to  us  quaint  and  old-fashioned,  for  music 
changes  more  rapidly  than  poetry,  and  is 
more  conventional  in  its  temporary  modes 
and  passing  mannerisms.  And  yet  there  is 
often  a  pleasing  cadence  about  these  old 
tunes,  which,  taken  all  in  all,  do  not  seem 
more  old-fashioned  than  the  ruffs,  the 
farthingales,  and  the  falling  bands  which 
characterized  the  costumes  of  our  English 
forefathers. 

These 


Sweet  Poetry  agree  187 


These  old  musicians  must  have  been 
an  interesting  class,  with  their  University 
breeding,  their  practice  of  the  learned  and 
intricate  counterpoint  of  the  day,  and  their 
foreign  and  courtly  associations.  William 
Byrd,  the  Queen's  instructor  on  the  virgi- 
nals, held  for  some  years  a  monopoly  of 
the  music  published,  out  of  which  he  seems 
to  have  made  less  than  Raleigh  contrived  to 
obtain  out  of  his  monopoly  of  sweet  wines. 
Thomas  Morley  of  the  Chapel  Royal,  a 
prolific  writer  of  secular  music,  as  seven  or 
eight  books  of  his  attest,  is  ever  memor- 
able as  one  of  the  earliest  composers  of 
music  to  Shakespeare's  perfect  songs.  It 
was  Morley,  we  are  told,  who  set  "  It  was 
a  lover  and  his  lass"  to  a  tune  which  has  a 
lilt  and  a  freshness  which  time  has  been 
little  able  to  impair.  A  third  musician  of 
great  repute  in  his  day  as  a  lutenist  was 
John  Dowland,  immortalized  in  the  sonnet, 
"  In  praise  of  Music  and  sweet  Poetry, " 

already 


1 88  When  Music  and 


already  quoted  above.  There  may  be  seen 
the  estimation  in  which  music  was  held  in 
the  comparison  of  Dowland's  repute  to  that 
of  Spenser  in  poetry.  Dowland  was  one  of 
those  that  carried  the  fame  of  English  mu- 
sicians to  the  continent.  He  was  lutenist  at 
various  times  to  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse,  to 
the  King  of  Denmark,  and  to  other  noble 
and  royal  patrons.  It  is  interesting  to  find 
the  Landgrave  addressing  Dowland  in  terms 
of  respectful  consideration,  denoting  a  re- 
cognition of  that  equality  with  princes 
which  the  mastery  of  a  fine  art  can  at  times 
confer.  Dowland  appears  to  have  been  a 
victim  of  what  we  now  call  "  the  artistic 
temperament,"  through  which  he  became 
an  object  of  deep  sympathy  and  concern  to 
himself  and  a  sore  trial,  doubtless,  to  all 
his  friends. 

A  difference  of  opinion  has  arisen  as  to 
whether  the  composers  of  madrigals  and 
ayres  were  usually  the  authors  of  the  words 

of 


Sweet  Poetry  agree 


of  their  songs  or  not.  Mr.  Bullen,  a  pio- 
neer in  the  recognition  and  collection  of 
the  lyrics  of  Elizabeth's  age,  is  of  opinion 
that  "  the  composers  are  responsible  only 
for  the  music."  Whereas  Mr.  Davey,  the 
author  of  an  excellent  history  of  music, 
says  :  "  It  appears  to  me  that  as  a  rule  the 
tunes  and  the  poetry  were  simultaneously 
conceived.  I  ground  this  belief  on  the  de- 
tailed parallelism  in  the  metre  of  the  suc- 
cessive stanzas  in  the  ayres  through  which 
the  same  music  affects  them  all."  There 
seems  something  in  this  ;  although  another 
argument  might  be  found  in  the  uniform- 
ity of  the  poetical  style  which  often  ac- 
companies the  musical  works  of  the  same 
composer.  In  the  works  of  the  greatest 
man  of  this  class,  Thomas  Campion,  we 
are  certain  that  the  two  arts  were  fittingly 
and  indissolubly  wedded.  As  to  the  lesser 
lights,  it  matters  very  little,  though  I  should 
like  to  be  sure  that  Robert  Jones  and  Cap- 
tain 


I9°  When  Music  and 

tain  Tobias  Hume  are  the  delightful  poets 
which  the  words  to  the  songs  in  their  books 
would  indicate  if  they  wrote  them.  Mr. 
Bullen  has  picked  out  the  following  perfect 
stanza  to  form  the  text  for  one  of  his  vol- 
umes of  lyrics  : 

0  Love  !   they  wrong  thee  much 
That  say  thy  sweet  is  bitter, 
When  thy  rich  fruit  is  such 

As  nothing  can  be  sweeter. 
Fair  house  of  joy  and  bliss, 
Where  truest  pleasure  is, 
I  do  adore  thee  : 

1  know  thee  what  thou  art, 
I  serve  thee  with  my  heart 

And  fall  before  thee. 

Alas  that  a  man  who  could  write  like  this 
should  remain  forever  a  flitted  shade  and 
mere  simulacrum  of  departed  glory.  Could 
Captain  Tobias  Hume  have  wielded  his 
sword  as  his  pen  he  could  scarcely  have 
left  the  world  a  more  consummate  swords- 
man. Quite  as  perfect  for  the  music  of 

their 


Sweet  Poetry  agree  19* 


their  words  are  such  lines  as  these,  half 
whimsical,  half  daintily  serious  : 

How  many  new  years  have  grown  old 
Since  first  thy  servant  old  was  new  ! 
How  many  long  hours  have  I  told 
Since  first  my  love  was  vowed  to  you  ! 
And  yet,  alas  !   she  doth  not  know 
Whether  her  servant  love  or  no. 

This  stanza  is  from  one  of  the  songs  of 
Robert  Jones's  Garden  of  Delight,  a  book 
now  hopelessly  lost.  Doubtless  many  a  jewel 
choice  as  this,  with  much  that  was  weightier 
if  less  precious,  has  fallen  a  prey  to  "  envi- 
ous and  calumniating  Time." 

When  all  has  been  said,  we  find  in 
Thomas  Campion  the  most  notable  example 
of  the  poet-musician.  As  to  him,  at  least, 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  for  he  writes  con- 
cerning his  own  song-books  :  "  Some  words 
are  in  these  books  which  have  been  clothed 
in  music  by  others,  and  I  am  content  they 
then  served  their  turn  :  yet  give  me  leave  to 

make 


192  When  Music  and 

make  use  of  mine  own."  In  a  similar  ad- 
dress prefixed  to  his  Third  Book  of  Ay  res, 
he  adds  :  "  In  these  English  ayres  I  have 
chiefly  aimed  to  couple  my  words  and  notes 
lovingly  together,  which  will  be  much  for 
him  to  do  that  hath  not  power  over  both." 
A  member  of  Gray's  Inn  in  his  youth,  a 
distinguished  practitioner  of  the  sister  art 
of  medicine  in  his  maturer  years,  Campion 
was  esteemed  for  his  Latin  poetry  and  for 
his  English  music  ;  for  his  critical  theories 
wherein  he  sought  to  turn  English  poetry 
back  into  the  well-worn  channels  of  the 
classics  ;  and  for  the  admirable  practice  with 
which  he  confuted  these  theories  in  his 
beautiful  English  lyrical  verse.  Campion 
was  a  very  accomplished  man  and  held  an 
honored  place  among  contemporary  musi- 
cians alike  for  his  compositions  and  for  his 
excellent  treatise  on  counterpoint.  Although 
a  conservative  as  to  prosody,  Campion  was 
remarkably  liberal  as  to  music  and  wrote 

ayres 


Sweet  Poetry  agree 


ayres  in  preference  to  madrigals  of  set  pur- 
pose. He  says  :  "  What  epigrams  are  in 
poetry,  the  same  are  ayres  in  music  ;  then 
in  their  chief  perfection  when  they  are 
short  and  well  seasoned.  But  to  cloy  a 
sweet  song  with  a  long  preludium  is  to 
corrupt  the  nature  of  it." 

The  poetry  of  Campion  is  saturated  with 
Catullus  and  it  shares  in  the  Roman  poet's 
sweetness,  sensuousness,  and  mellifluous  flow 
of  musical  words.  Campion  is  not  wholly 
a  poet  of  love,  although  he  lavishes  on 
Venus's  altars  his  richest  and  loveliest  fruits. 
There  is  a  purity  and  simple  childlike  fer- 
vor, a  genuine  singing  quality  and  happy 
mastery  of  phrase  in  the  more  serious  of 
his  songs  that  raise  Campion  measurably 
above  the  chorus  of  amourists  and  dainty 
gilded  sonneteers  who  rise  and  fall  in  a 
singing  swarm  among  the  sallows  of  the 
Elizabethan  garden  of  Love. 

But  this  pure  and  natural  union  of  lyr- 
ical 


194 


When  Music  and 


ical  poetry  and  song  was  not  the  only  unity 
of  the  arts  attempted  in  this  ingenious  time. 
True  the  opera  was  as  yet  in  embryo  in 
far-away  Italy,  the  home  of  beauty  and  of 
many  perversions  thereof.  Florentine  Peri 
and  Caccini,  seeking  quixotically  to  resur- 
rect and  rejuvenate  the  dead  Muse  of  Greek 
tragedy,  had  invented  modern  opera,  "  the 
anarchy  of  the  arts  "  as  Schlegel  was  later 
to  call  it.  Campion  might  have  known 
the  authors  of  Dafne  and  Eurtdice,  both  of 
which  were  presented  in  Florence  before 
Elizabeth  had  ceased  to  reign.  Whether 
the  English  composer  knew  le  nuove  mu- 
siche,  may  be  questioned,  although  his  atti- 
tude of  preference  for  the  ayre  over  the 
older  scientific  music  was  precisely  that  of 
the  early  Italian  writers  of  opera.  The 
English  masque,  too,  attempted  this  union 
of  arts,  and  keeping  sound  ever  subser- 
vient to  the  sense  of  sight,  with  dancing, 
artistic  grouping  and  costuming,  combined 

the 


Sweet  Poetry  agree 


95 


the  earthly  Muse  of  comedy  with  the  spir- 
itual Muse  of  song.  When  Jonson  wrote  a 
masque  for  Court  he  called  in  the  aid  of 
Inigo  Jones,  the  royal  architect,  who  devised 
the  scenes,  decorations,  and  costumes  and, 
with  the  practical  assistance  of  "  the  King's 
master  carpenter,"  contrived  the  mechani- 
cal devices  for  change  and  effect.  For  the 
music,  Jonson  resorted  to  "  his  excellent 
friend,  Alphonso  Ferrabosco,"  the  English- 
born  son  of  a  celebrated  Italian  composer 
of  Henry  the  Eighth's  Court  of  the  same 
name,  whose  works,  whether  in  song  or  in- 
strumental, were  of  equal  repute  in  his  day. 
The  music  of  the  masque  was  of  great 
variety,  now  descriptive  with  pipe  and  tabor 
or  drum  and  trumpet ;  now  arranged  in 
"consorts,"  as  the  harmony  of  instruments 
of  one  kind  was  called ;  now  "  broken,"  as 
the  mingling  of  various  instruments  or  in- 
struments with  voices  was  described.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  man 

better 


196 


When  Music  and 


better  fitted  than  Campion,  by  nature  and 
by  study,  for  the  devising  of  such  minglings 
of  the  arts.  Characteristically,  as  a  musi- 
cian, Campion  begins  the  description  of 
his  Masque  at  the  Marriage  of  the  Lord  Hayes 
with  an  account  of  the  music.  The  great 
hall,  wherein  the  masque  was  presented,  he 
tells  us,  "  received  this  division  and  order. 
The  upper  part,  where  the  cloth  and  chair 
of  state  were  placed,  had  scaffolds  and  seats 
on  either  side  continued  to  the  screen  ;  right 
before  it  was  a  partition  for  the  dancing- 
place  ;  on  the  right  hand  whereof  were  con- 
sorted ten  musicians,  with  bass  and  mean 
lutes,  a  bandora,  a  double  sackbut,  and  an 
harpsichord,  with  two  treble  violins;  on 
the  other  side  somewhat  nearer  the  screen 
were  placed  nine  violins  and  three  lutes, 
and  to  answer  both  the  consorts  (as  it  were 
in  a  triangle),  six  cornets  and  six  chapel 
voices  were  seated  almost  right  against 
them,  in  a  place  raised  higher  in  respect  of 

the 


Sweet  Poetry  agree 


197 


the  piercing  sound  of  those  instruments  ; 
eighteen  foot  from  the  screen  another  stage 
was  raised  higher  by  a  yard  than  that  which 
was  prepared  for  dancing.  This  higher 
stage  was  all  enclosed  with  a  double  veil, 
so  artificially  painted,  that  it  seemed  as  if 
dark  clouds  had  hung  before  it :  within 
that  shroud  was  concealed  a  green  valley, 
with  green  trees  about  it,  and  in  the  midst 
of  them  nine  golden  trees  of  fifteen  foot 
high,  with  arms  and  branches  very  glorious 
to  behold." 

In  the  great  variety  of  songs  that  followed, 
much  was  made  of  the  differences  in  posi- 
tion of  the  various  bands  or  consorts  of 
musicians  and  in  the  contrasted  qualities, 
combinations  and  volume  of  the  instruments 
and  voices  ;  and  the  songs —  many  of  them 
lyrics  of  great  beauty  —  were  variously  set 
for  solos,  answering  duets,  and  choruses, 
accompanied  or  free.  Thus  "four  Sylvans" 
played  on  their  musical  instruments  the  first 

strain 


198  When  Music  and 

strain  of  a  song  by  way  of  prelude,  "and 
at  the  repetition  thereof  the  voices  fell  in 
with  the  instruments  which  were  thus  di- 
vided: a  treble  and  a  bass  were  placed  near 
his  Majesty,  and  another  treble  and  bass 
near  the  grove,  that  the  words  of  the  song 
might  first  be  heard  of  all,  because  the  trees 
of  gold  instantly  at  the  first  sound  of  their 
voices  began  to  move  and  dance  accord- 
ing to  the  measure  of  the  time  which  the 
musicians  kept  in  singing,  and  the  nature 
of  the  words  which  they  delivered."  Little 
by  little  the  trees  sank  out  of  sight,  "  a 
matter  effected,"  we  are  informed,  "  by  an 
engine  placed  under  the  stage,"  and  out  of 
them  emerged  the  noble  dancers ;  for  be 
it  remembered  that  one  of  the  joys  of  the 
masque  consisted  in  the  circumstance  that  it 
was  not  a  performance  wholly  to  be  looked 
at,  but  that  the  noblest  lords  and  the  fairest 
ladies  were  partakers  in  its  dazzling  scenes 
and  graceful  figures,  and  even  royalty  in 

the 


Sweet  Poetry  agree  199 


the  persons  of  the  Queen,  Princes  and  Prin- 
cesses condescended  at  times  to  bear  a  part. 
The  climax  of  this  masque  Campion  thus 
describes:  "This  chorus  was  in  the  manner 
of  an  echo,  seconded  by  the  cornets,  then 
by  the  consort  of  ten,  then  by  the  consort 
of  twelve,  and  by  a  double  chorus  of  voices 
standing  on  either  side,  the  one  against 
[that  is,  opposite  to]  the  other,  bearing  five 
voices  apiece,  and  sometime  every  chorus 
was  heard  severally,  sometime  mixed,  but 
in  the  end  all  together:  which  kind  of  har- 
mony so  distinguished  by  the  place  [that 
is,  position],  and  by  the  several  nature  of 
instruments  and  changeable  conveyance  of 
the  song,  and  performed  by  so  many  ex- 
cellent masters  as  were  actors  in  that  mu- 
sic, (their  number  amounting  to  forty-two 
voices  and  instruments)  could  not  but  yield 
great  satisfaction  to  the  hearers." 

In  these  days  of  grand  opera  and  of  musical 
festivals  punctuated  with  cannon,  Campion's 

musical 


2OO 


Music  and  Poetry 


musical  masque  seems  but  a  small  affair. 
It  was  successful  and  amazingly  novel  for 
its  age ;  and  who  shall  say  that  the  Eliza- 
bethan's ideal  to  wed  music  and  lyrical  verse, 
environed  in  scenic  beauty  and  illustrated 
by  the  poetry  of  motion,  differed  so  very 
widely  from  the  Wagnerian  dream  where- 
in that  lordly  bridegroom,  the  drama  of 
Shakespeare,  was  to  lead  to  an  indissoluble 
marriage  before  the  altar  of  all  the  arts,  his 
bride  the  heaven-born  music  of  Beethoven  ? 


IX 
THALIA   IN  OXFORD 


IX 


THALIA  in  OXFORD 


203 


ENGLAND  had  adored  mummings,  pa- 
geants, and  interludes  for  genera- 
tions when  Elizabeth  came  to  her 
throne.  There  had  been,  time  out  of  mind, 
disguisings  and  masquings  on  high  days  and 
holidays,  puppets  in  booths  at  fairs,  and 
"bride-ales"  as  the  commoner  wedding  fes- 
tivities were  called,  theatricals  in  barns,  inn- 
yards,  and  on  London  streets.  Before  the 
reign  was  half  over,  if  a  murder  was  com- 
mitted, it  was  staged  for  a  warning.  Had  a 
continental  city  been  besieged  or  a  foreign 
political  criminal  fallen,  all  was  arranged  for 
the  boards  before  it  was  stale  in  the  mem- 


ories 


204 


"Thalia  in  Oxford 


ories  of  men.  But  this  popular  side  of  the 
drama  is  far  from  all.  Parallel  to  the  great 
drama  which  the  names  of  Marlowe  and 
Shakespeare  adorned  and  carried  home  to 
the  hearts  of  common  men,  ran  a  scholar's 
and  a  courtier's  drama,  earlier  and  more 
august  in  its  originals,  equally  tenacious  of 
its  more  conservative  ideals,  and  equally  po- 
tent in  its  influences  on  contemporary  times 
and  on  times  to  come.  This  scholar's  and 
courtier's  drama  claimed  the  earliest  of  the 
great  English  playwrights  wholly  for  its 
own  ;  and  the  name  which  ranks  next  to 
Shakespeare's  was  two  thirds  of  its  making. 
For  Lyly  and  Jonson  were  alike  purveyors 
of  amusement  to  nobility  and  royalty.  And 
even  when,  under  newer  influences,  the 
Court  drama  failed,  and  the  succeeding 
masque,  a  union  of  the  arts  of  Thalia,  Eu- 
terpe, and  Terpsichore,  was  waning  in  the 
glare  of  Puritanism,  which  unveiled,  like 
day,  the  tawdry  unrealities  of  the  stage, 

the 


Thalia  in  Oxford 


205 


the  Universities  cherished  the  old  traditions 
and  continued  to  perform  primitive  trage- 
dies that  Sackville  might  have  disdained, 
and  comedies  the  crude  classicality  of  which 
would  have  moved  the  seasoned  comedians 
of  London  to  derisive  laughter. 

Not  that  there  were  not  notable  triumphs 
among  the  university  plays  both  Latin  and 
English.  Ezechias,  written  in  English  verse 
in  the  fifties  by  Nicholas  Udall,  the  au- 
thor of  Ralph  Roister  Doister,  the  first  Eng- 
lish comedy,  was  so  "  handled  by  King's 
College  men"  that  a  learned  Welsh  prelate 
declared  it  "  worthy  for  a  queen  to  behold." 
Nashe  and  Harington  combined  to  praise 
the  Richardus  Tertius  of  Dr.  Legge,  who  to 
his  dramatic  honors  added  the  distinction 
of  being  twice  chosen  Vice-Chancellor  of 
Cambridge.  Oxford  Bellum  Grammatical 
and  Cambridge  Pedantius  remained  for 
years  approved  and  praised  as  models  of 
university  comedy,  and  shared  with  Igno- 
ramus 


206  Thalia  in  Oxford 

ramus  (which  was  even  translated  into 
English  that  the  vulgar  might  share  in  its 
choice  university  wit)  a  popularity  which 
lasted  through  a  couple  of  generations. 
The  drama  had  been  a  passion  with  the  Hu- 
manists, who  flourished  throughout  the  Eu- 
rope of  Charles  the  Fifth  and  the  Borgias. 
Ralph  Radcliffe,  a  schoolmaster  of  Hert- 
fordshire, transformed  the  refectory  of  the 
old  monastery  in  which  he  held  his  school 
into  a  veritable  theatre,  wherein  his  stu- 
dents acted  plays  of  his  composing  for  the 
strengthening  of  their  memories  and  the 
betterment  of  their  Latinity.  George  Bu- 
chanan, grave  historian  and  tutor  to  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  and  her  son,  King  James, 
wrote  Latin  plays  for  his  students  when  a 
teacher  in  the  new  college  at  Boulogne,  and 
the  young  Montaigne  is  related  to  have 
acted  in  them.  Whilst  excellent  John  Pals- 
grave (in  his  zeal  for  learning)  transmuted 
Acolastus,  a  Latin  comedy  of  a  famous 

Dutch 


"Thalia  in  Oxford  207 


Dutch  scholar  often  performed  by  school- 
boys, into  a  text-book  from  which  to  learn 
Latin,  translating  each  scene,  interpreting 
the  characters,  the  style,  and  the  metres  of 
the  author  as  a  Latin  classic,  "not  only,"  he 
said,  "  for  because  I  esteem  that  little  vol- 
ume to  be  a  very  curious  and  artificial  com- 
pacted nosegay,  gathered  out  of  the  much 
excellent  and  odoriferous  sweet-smelling 
garden  of  the  most  pure  Latin  authors,  but 
also  because  the  maker  thereof  —  as  far  as 
I  can  learn  —  is  yet  living,  whereby  I  would 
be  glad  to  move  into  the  hearts  of  your 
Grace's  clerks  some  little  grain  of  honest 
and  virtuous  envy." 

In  fine,  it  had  long  been  the  custom  of 
the  grammar  schools,  the  colleges,  and  Inns 
of  Court  to  invent  devices,  to  hold  revels 
and  entertainments,  to  revive  Roman  com- 
edies or  perform  original  plays,  and  to  live 
in  an  atmosphere  of  invention,  rehearsal, 
and  persistent  theatrical  activity.  At  times 

these 


208 


Thalia  in  Oxford 


these  attacks  of  dramatic  craze  extended 
through  protracted  periods,  and  play  after 
play  was  performed,  the  whole  combined 
by  means  of  an  elaborate  connecting  cere- 
monial. Thus  in  the  year  1 594  the  students 
of  Gray's  Inn  "betwixt  All-Hollantide 
and  Christmas  "  carried  on  a  series  of  fes- 
tivities before  their  self-elected  "  Prince  of 
Purpoole  "  which,  although  "  the  rather  to 
be  preferred  by  witty  inventions  than  by 
chargeable  expenses,"  must  have  been  as 
sumptuous  as  they  were  novel  and  elaborate. 
What  with  a  "family  and  followers"  of 
upwards  of  a  hundred  "  nobles  and  attend- 
ants," each  bearing  his  part,  what  with  the 
coronation,  the  receptions  of  "  homagers 
and  tributaries,"  proclamations,  revels,  the 
arguments  before  the  throne  on  the  ex- 
ercise of  war  or  the  study  of  philosophy, 
with  other  orations,  letters  "  from  abroad," 
the  replies  of  his  Majesty,  the  founding  of 
royal  orders  of  knighthood,  and  the  per- 
formance 


"Thalia  in  Oxford 


209 


formance  of  three  complete  and  difficult 
masques  —  some  conception  may  be  formed 
of  the  magnitude,  elaborated  ceremonial, 
and  the  curious  particulars  of  the  Gesta 
Grayorum  as  the  whole  function  was  called. 
The  masques  were  by  Beaumont,  Chapman, 
and  Campion,  all  recognized  poets  in  their 
day ;  and  in  the  final  entertainment  Queen 
Elizabeth  herself  was  "  Prince  Purpoole's  " 
guest. 

But  it  is  with  a  somewhat  less  known 
period  of  dramatic  craze  that  we  are  now 
concerned ;  and  with  Oxford,  not  Gray's 
Inn.  In  an  interesting  manuscript  still  pre- 
served in  the  Library  of  St.  John's  College, 
one  Griffin  Higgs,  evidently  a  student  who 
was  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  has  left  us  an 
account  of  a  series  of  festivities,  dramatic 
in  kind,  which  starting,  so  far  as  the  ar- 
rangements were  concerned,  early  in  Octo- 
ber, 1607,  were  continued  until  Lent  put 
a  stop  to  the  hilarity.  During  this  period  a 

sort 


2IO 


Thalia  in  Oxford 


sort  of  theatrical  contagion  spread  from 
gownsmen  to  the  town,  and  from  the 
freshmen,  who  had  a  simple  farce  of  their 
own  in  English,  to  the  Dons,  who  gravely 
enacted  matter  didactic  in  the  learned 
tongue. 

The  whole  thing  began  at  St.  John's 
among  "  the  poulderings  "  or  students  of 
the  second  year,  who,  ascertaining  that 
thirty  years  before  similar  festivities  had 
been  held,  determined  to  emulate  the  past. 
First  of  all  a  Christmas  Prince  was  chosen 
who  issued  under  his  royal  seal,  in  such 
Latin  as  the  combined  learning  of  "  the 
poulderings"  could  muster,  solemn  procla- 
mations of  various  kinds,  chiefly  concerned 
with  the  raising  of  revenue.  For  the 
Prince's  instalment  "  a  schollarlike  device 
called  Ara  Fortunes  "  was  given.  The  inter- 
locutors were  Princeps,  Philosophus,  Rus- 
ticus,  and  Stultus  and  the  language  was 
evidently  Latin.  This  play  was  not  given 

on 


Thalia  in  Oxford 


211 


on  a  stage  but  on  the  tables  of  the  refec- 
tory or  dining-hall  set  closely  together. 
The  applause  was  so  vociferous  at  one  point 
that  it  brought  down  the  canopy  of  For- 
tune ;  but,  says  Higgs,  "  it  was  cleanly  sup- 
ported by  some  of  the  standers  by  till  the 
company  was  voided."  The  play  is  not 
given  in  the  manuscript,  "  because  of  its 
length." 

The  next  performance  was  "  a  private 
shewe  in  the  manner  of  an  interlude  con- 
taining the  order  of  Saturnalls,  and  shew- 
ing the  first  cause  of  Christmas  candles." 
The  characters  were  Hercules,  Curius,  and 
Doulus.  "This  shew,"  naively  remarks  our 
student  informant,  "  was  very  well  liked  of 
ourselves."  Two  days  later,  it  being  St. 
John's  Day,  a  masque  with  a  morris  dance 
was  given  in  the  afternoon,  and  in  the  even- 
ing a  second  masque  entitled  the  Twelve 
Days,  "  the  holy-daies  speaking  Latin  and 
the  working  daies  English."  The  Tragedy 

tf 


212 


Thalia  in  Oxford 


of  Philomela  was  booked  for  December  the 
twenty-ninth,  but  there  was  much  trouble 
in  getting  it  ready  and  when  all  was  done, 
unhappily,  "  the  Prince  himselfe,  who  was 
to  play  Tereus,  had  got  such  an  exceeding 
cold  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  speak, 
or  speaking  to  be  heard."  "At  length  it  was 
concluded  that  in  case  the  Prince  should 
not  hold  out,  that  then  the  author  of  the 
tragedy,  who  was  best  acquainted  with  it 
and  could  say  most  of  the  verses,  should  go 
forward."  Fortunately  the  Prince's  voice 
"  held  out "  and  the  tragedy  was  a  great 
success.  "  Itys  was  much  wondered  at  for 
speaking  Latin,  because  he  was  so  little  in 
his  long  coat  that  he  was  taken  to  be  a 
child  but  of  seven  or  eight  years  old." 

The  performance  of  New  Year's  Day  was 
"  a  shew  called  'Times  Complaint!'1  The  piece 
was  badly  given.  The  Prologue  forgot  his 
lines  and  "  Goodwife  Spiggott  [one  of  the 
characters]  coming  forth  before  her  time, 

was 


Thalia  in  Oxford  213 


was  most  miserably  at  a  non  plus  and  made 
others  so  also,  whilst  herself  stalked  in  the 
midst  like  a  great  Harry  lyon  as  it  pleased 
the  audience  to  term  it,  either  saying  no- 
thing at  all  or  nothing  to  the  purpose." 
The  drunken  man  too,  "  who  in  the  repe- 
titions had  much  pleased  and  done  very 
well,  was  now  so  ambitious  of  his  actions 
that  he  would  needes  make  his  part  much 
longer  than  it  was,  and  stood  so  long  upon 
it  all  that  he  grew  tedious."  "  Expecta- 
tion," says  our  young  student  with  a  sigh, 
"  the  devourer  of  all  good  endeavours,  has 
swallowed  more  in  the  very  name  and  title 
of  this  interlude  than  was  either  provided 
or  intended  in  the  whole  matter.  We  our- 
selves thought  not  so  ill  of  it  as  others, 
neither  will  future  times,  we  hope,  judge 
it  so  vile  as  the  present  did."  How  wise  a 
dispensation  it  is  that  authorship  and  mo- 
therhood are  alike  blind  and  dote  often- 
times on  the  least  favored  of  their  weans  ! 

On 


2  14 


Thalia  in  Oxford 


On  counting  the  cost  of  Time  s  Complaint, 
our  young  adventurers  discovered  to  their 
dismay  that  the  exchequer  of  his  Majesty 
was  running  low.  Therefore  a  proclama- 
tion, egregious  alike  in  its  solemnity  and 
its  Latinity,  was  promulgated  whereby  his 
Majesty's  liege  subjects  were  adjured  to  pay 
the  charges,  and  assessed  in  proportion  to 
their  dignities,  a  freshman  two  shillings,  a 
pouldering,  four. 

On  the  tenth  of  January  two  private 
"  shews  "  were  given  in  the  lodgings  of  St. 
John's.  The  first  was  called  Somnium  Fun- 
datoris,  and  concerned  matters  traditionary 
in  the  history  of  the  college ;  the  other  was 
a  mock  play  entitled  the  Seven  Days  of  the 
Week.  Besides  the  Days,  the  "  clarke  of  St. 
Gyles,"  a  woman,  and  a  pair  of  snuffers 
figured  amongst  the  dramatis  persona  or  the 
properties,  which  shall  we  say  ?  This  play 
is  given  in  the  manuscript  and,  while  but 
a  slight  piece  of  fooling,  is  far  from  devoid 

of 


Thalia  in  Oxford 


2I5 


of  wit.  "  Enter  Sunday  Night,  cum  Luna  et 
aliis  pertinentiis  "  reminds  us  of  Bottom's  fa- 
mous scratch  company  where  Starveling  or 
Snug  is  advised  to  "  come  in  with  a  bush 
of  thorns  and  a  lanthorn  and  say  he  comes 
to  disfigure  or  to  present  the  person  of 
Moonshine."  The  Seven  Days  of  the  Week 
was  written  for  younger  boys  "who  could 
not  do  serious  things."  It  went  in  conse- 
quence so  well  that  it  was  repeated  publicly 
by  request  a  few  days  later. 

Here  his  "Highness"  was  constrained  to 
descend  to  asking  the  Dons  for  an  extension 
of  his  rule,  and  they  granted  him  seven 
more  days.  On  the  fifteenth  of  January  a 
Latin  play  entitled  Philomanthes  was  acted 
with  great  applause,  the  audience  crying 
again  and  again,  "  Abunde  satisfaction  est!*' 
and  giving  other  signs  of  encouragement. 
The  subsequent  performances  were  a  Yule- 
tide  Melody  of  Christmas  Sports,  whatever 
that  may  have  been,  a  Vigilate  on  Candlemas 

Night 


2  l6 


Thalia  in  Oxford 


Night  preceded  by  a  mock  proclamation 
and  a  masque  "  sudden  and  extempore,"  a 
"  shew '"  by  the  masters  and  officers  "  in 
mete  and  semely  Latin  phrase,"  a  masque 
of  Penelope  s  Wooers,  and  lastly,  on  Shrove 
Tuesday,  on  a  great  stage,  the  masque  of 
the  Prince's  resignation  entitled  Ira  seu  Tu- 
mulus Fortunes.  "The  stage,"  says  our  scribe, 
"  was  never  so  oppressed  with  company,  in 
so  much  that  it  was  verily  thought  that  it 
would  not  be  performed  that  night  for  want 
of  room  ;  but  the  audience  was  so  favorable 
as  to  stand  as  close  and  yield  as  much  back 
as  was  possible,"  and  hence  the  masque  was 
successfully  presented. 

Although  the  Prince  had  now  given  up 
his  rule,  the  theatrical  spirit  was  still  ram- 
pant at  Oxford,  and  as  an  English  tragedy 
was  almost  ready,  argument  arose  as  to 
whether  it  should  be  acted  or  not.  Against 
its  presentation  it  was  argued  that  Lent 
was  approaching  and  enough  attention  had 

already 


Thalia  in  Oxford  217 


already  been  bestowed  on  performances 
which,  when  all  had  been  said  in  their 
favor,  were  little  better  than  toys.  More- 
over it  was  credibly  reported  that  the  in- 
tended play  was  written  in  English,  "  a 
language  unfit  for  the  University."  After 
protracted  and  heated  argument  both  objec- 
tions were  finally  overruled,  and  Periander 
was  given,  with  a  very  large  cast,  by  the  pick 
of  the  long-trained  actors  of  St.  John's. 
Profiting  by  their  former  troublesome  ex- 
perience, "  the  stage  was  kept  void  of  all 
company."  "  It  is  almost  incredible,"  says 
our  enthusiastic  devotee  of  Melpomene,  "to 
think  how  well  this  tragedy  was  performed 
of  all  parties."  One  of  the  characters  was 
called  Detraction,  and  was  placed,  accord- 
ing to  a  familiar  device  of  the  contempo- 
rary stage,  in  the  audience.  He  played  his 
part  so  well  that  "  he  was  like  to  have  been 
beaten  for  his  sauciness."  Another  actor, 
who  played  the  part  of  Periander,  when 

about 


2i8  Thalia  in  Oxford 

about  to  kill  his  daughter  Eugenia,  "  did 
not  so  couch  his  dagger  with  his  hand  but 
that  he  pricked  her  through  all  her  attire. 
But,  as  God  would  have  it,"  piously  adds 
our  informant,  "  it  was  only  a  scratch,  and 
so  it  passed."  As  only  a  small  part  of  the 
Oxonians  could  be  accorrimodated  with 
standing  room  within  the  hall,  several  un- 
ruly spirits  —  rival  poulderings,  no  doubt 
-  raised  what  our  friend  Higgs  called  "  a 
tumult,  without  the  windows."  Where- 
upon "  the  whifflers  made  a  raid  upon  them 
with  their  swords  and  drove  the  crowd  out 
of  the  precincts,  imprisoning  some  until 
after  the  play  was  over." 

Such  was  the  violence  of  this  attack  of 
theatro-mania  that  we  hear  of  yet  other 
productions,  by  their  authors  and  actors  in- 
tended. A  Controversy  of  Irus  and  his  ragged 
company,  An  Embassy  from  Lubberland,  The 
Creation  of  the  White  Knights  of  the  Order  of 
Aristotks  Well:  such  were  some  of  the  pro- 
jected 


Thalia  in  Oxford  219 


jected  matters  which  the  patient  but  wearied 
Dons  contrived  to  consign  to  the  Limbo 
of  unfulfilled  achievement.  Nor  were  the 
youthful  projectors  without  their  troubles. 
Our  friend  complains  that  in  the  repetitions 
as  in  the  performances  "  some  there  were 
that  stood  by  and  gave  aim,  willing  to  see 
much  and  do  little."  And  he  ends  his  en- 
tertaining and  ingenuous  little  tract  with 
this  sound  advice  :  "  Let  others,  hereafter, 
take  heed  how  they  attempt  the  like,  unless 
they  find  better  meanes  at  home  and  better 
minds  abroad." 


X 

A  JOURNEY  TO   THE   NORTH 


223 


X 


A  Journey  to  the  North 

IN  the  summer  of  1618,  two  years  after 
the  death  of  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson, 
the  greatest  living  English  poet,  con- 
ceived the  original  idea  of  a  journey  to 
Scotland  on  foot  and  unattended.  There 
was  much  to  attract  him  thither.  Scotland 
was  the  native  land  of  his  friend  and  royal 
patron,  King  James.  Jonson's  father  and 
grandfather  had  been  of  Carlisle,  and  the 
latter  came  thither,  Jonson  had  reason  to 
believe,  from  Annandale  across  the  Solway; 
so  that  Jonson  may  well  have  shared  that 
"  salmon-like  instinct"  which  the  King  had 
alleged  as  a  sufficient  reason  for  the  royal 

visit 


224        A  Journey  to  the  North 

visit  to  the  seat  of  his  northern  empire  in 
the  previous  year.  Jonson  was  now  in  his 
forty-fifth  year,  and  was  already  showing 
signs  of  that  extreme  corpulency  which, 
turning  scorbutic  and  dropsical,  cost  him 
much  later  his  life.  This  journey  to  the 
north  may  have  been  undertaken  on  his 
physician's  advice  as  a  prolonged  and  heroic 
constitutional.  It  was  an  eccentric  and  no 
uncourageous  thing  to  attempt  in  an  age  in 
which  the  ways  were  notoriously  bad  and 
beset  with  dangers  by  no  means  imaginary. 
And  the  witticism  of  Sir  Francis  Bacon, 
who  told  Jonson  that  he  "  loved  not  to 
see  Poesie  goe  on  other  feet  than  poeticall 
Dactylus  and  Spondsus,"  may  well  have 
been  prompted  by  a  friendly  solicitude  for 
the  safety  and  well-being  of  a  man  whom 
even  the  worldly  and  unsympathetic  Lord 
Chancellor  must  have  prized  for  his  learn- 
ing and  personal  worth,  if  not  for  the 
lighter  graces  of  his  poetry. 

At 


A  Journey  to  the  North         225 


At  this  time  Jonson  stood  alone,  the  ac- 
knowledged leader  among  the  men  of  let- 
ters of  his  day,  a  successful  dramatist,  critic, 
translator,  lyrist,  and  writer  of  occasional 
verse,  above  all  the  accepted  entertainer,  in 
his  magnificent  masques  at  Court,  of  the 
nobility  and  of  royalty  itself.  Jonson  had 
outstood  the  unpopularity  which  his  uncom- 
promising arrogance  had  raised  against  him 
in  his  earlier  plays  on  the  boards  of  the 
common  theatres.  He  had  braved  and  tri- 
umphed over  the  attacks  of  envy  and  rivalry. 
He  had  won  the  patronage,  and  with  it 
the  regard  and  respect,  of  a  larger  number 
of  "great  ones"  than  any  poet  before  his 
time,  and  now  lived  on  terms  of  easy  fa- 
miliarity with  half  the  gentry  and  nobility 
of  England.  Lastly  Jonson  had  just  com- 
pleted a  careful  gathering  in  of  all  his 
works  in  his  folio  edition  of  1 6 1 6,  the  first 
example  of  a  collective  edition  of  an  Eng- 
lish poet  superintended  by  himself,  and  in 

that 


226        A  Journey  to  the  North 

that  an  unexampled  attestation  of  Jonson's 
vogue  and  repute  among  his  contempora- 
ries. 

Jonson's  life  had  never  been  that  of  a 
recluse.  He  lived  in  the  public  eye ;  and 
converse  with  men,  the  opinion  of  the  ju- 
dicious and  the  praise  of  his  prince  were 
to  him  as  the  very  breath  of  his  nostrils. 
At  Court,  where  his  beautiful  and  artistic 
masques  were  recognized  as  the  height  of 
the  social  elegance  and  poetical  spirit  of 
their  time ;  on  the  boards  of  the  London 
theatres,  where  the  sheer  genius  of  the  Al- 
chemist and  the  Silent  Woman  had  disarmed 
the  "  mews  of  opposed  rascality,"  as  well 
as  the  leers  of  "  envious  criticasters  ;  "  in 
the  tavern  (Elizabethan  for  the  later  club  or 
coffee-house),  where  Jonson  sat  enthroned 
in  state,  the  earliest  of  that  august  succession 
of  literary  autocrats  that  ruled  literary  Bo- 
hemia and  annexed  large  provinces  of  bar- 
barous neighboring  Philistia — Jonson  was 

alone 


A  Journey  to  the  North 


227 


alone  and  unmatched.  Hence  when  the  pro- 
ject of  his  journey  was  formed  it  was  much 
bruited  about,  and  when  at  last  he  shook 
the  dust  of  London  from  his  feet  and  "  the 
Dog,  the  Sunne,  and  the  Tripple  Tun " 
for  a  time  knew  him  not,  it  was  like  the 
departure  of  a  sovereign  from  the  seat  of 
his  empire. 

Among  the  familiar  figures  of  the  day  was 
one  John  Taylor,  a  water-man  or  wherry- 
man,  popularly  known  as  "the  water  poet." 
Taylor  was  one  of  the  two  or  three  thou- 
sand "  poore  men  "  who  made  their  living 
on  the  river  conveying  passengers  from 
point  to  point  :  for  the  river  was  often 
safer  than  the  highway.  Taylor  appears  to 
have  commenced  poet  by  presenting  his 
little  doggerel  rimes  to  passengers  of  note, 
thereby  increasing  the  returns  for  his  ferri- 
age. He  was  encouraged  by  the  wits,  partly 
in  sport  and  out  of  curiosity  to  see  what  he 
might  do  ;  and  Jonson  sagely  reports  that 

King 


228        A  Journey  to  the  North 

King  James  on  one  occasion,  adjudging  Sir 
Philip  Sidney  "no  poet,"  declared  that  he 
had  seen  no  verses  in  England  like  to  "  the 
sculler's  :  "  a  remark  that  may  well  have 
been  true,  though  hardly  in  the  sense  in 
which  his  Majesty  meant  it.  Be  Taylor's 
poetry  what  it  may,  this  royal  opinion  was 
the  making  of  the  water-man.  He  was  now 
a  recognized  author  and  emulous  of  the 
fame  of  his  rival  in  literary  freakishness, 
Tom  Coryat,  who  had  sailed  all  the  way 
to  Hamburg  in  a  cock-boat  and  traversed 
most  of  the  countries  of  Europe  on  foot, 
writing  up  his  adventures  in  his  Crudities, 
as  he  called  them,  and  in  other  books. 
Hence,  whether  by  accident  or  design,  when 
Jonson  set  out  north,  Taylor  followed  him, 
undertaking  what  he  called  the  Pennyles 
Pilgrimage  or  the  Money-lesse  Perambulation 
of  "John  Taylor,  alias  the  Kings  Majesties 
Water-Poet,  in  which  "  he  travailed  on  foot 
from  London  to  Edenborugh  in  Scotland 

not 


A  Journey  to  the  North        229 

not  carrying  any  money  to  or  fro,  neither 
begging,  borrowing  or  asking  meate  drinke 
or  lodging."  The  wits  of  the  town  may 
have  put  Taylor  up  to  his  "  pilgrimage  ;  " 
Jonson  certainly  believed  for  a  time  that 
the  water-man  was  "sent  hither  to  scorn 
him."  But  this  Taylor  denied  in  his  pre- 
face, declaring  :  "  Reader,  these  travailes  of 
mine  into  Scotland  were  not  undertaken, 
neither  in  imitation  or  emulation  of  any 
man,  but  onely  devised  by  my  selfe  on 
purpose  to  make  triall  of  my  friends,  both 
in  this  kingdome  of  England  and  that 
of  Scotland,  and  because  I  would  be  an 
eye-witnes  of  things  which  I  had  heard  of 
that  countrey  ;  and  whereas  many  shallow- 
brain'd  critickes  doe  lay  an  aspersion  on 
me  that  I  was  set  on  by  others  or  that  I 
did  undergoe  this  project  either  in  malice 
or  mockage  of  Master  Benjamin  Jonson,  I 
vow  by  the  faith  of  a  Christian  that  their 
imaginations  are  all  wide,  for  he  is  a  gentle- 
man 


23°        A  Journey  to  the  North 

man  to  whom  I  am  so  much  obliged  for 
many  undeserved  courtesies  that  I  have  re- 
ceived from  him  and  from  others  by  his 
favour,  that  I  durst  never  be  so  impudent 
or  ingratefull  as  either  to  suffer  any  mans 
perswasions  or  mine  owne  instigation  to  in- 
cite me  to  make  so  bad  a  requitall  for  so 
much  goodness  formerly  received." 

Jonson  appears  to  have  set  out  in  June, 
and  to  have  taken  the  eastern  route  by  way 
of  York  and  Newcastle.  It  is  likely  that 
he  found  a  warm  welcome  and  fitting  en- 
tertainment at  many  a  gentleman's  house 
on  his  way.  Jonson's  fame  was  widespread 
over  England  and  his  journey  had  been 
much  talked  of  when  in  plan.  Many  would 
welcome  the  man  for  his  repute  who  cared 
less  for  the  poet.  For  the  age  was  hospit- 
able, and  all  doors  were  open  to  the  ac- 
credited bearer  of  news  from  Court  and 
from  London.  Even  in  company  where  he 
was  unknown,  Jonson's  commanding  per- 
son, 


A  Journey  to  the  North        231 


son,  his  confident  and  outspoken  opinions, 
and  convivial  habits,  must  have  won  him 
many  a  friend  by  the  way-side=  Jonson 
knew  both  London  and  Westminster,  and 
could  discourse  the  latest  gossip  of  the  thea- 
tre and  the  tap-room.  He  could  chat  with 
the  collegian  of  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  for 
"  he  was  Master  of  Arts  in  both  Universi- 
ties," albeit  "  by  their  favor,  not  his  studie ;" 
nor  could  the  most  learned  men  of  the  age 
have  disdained  the  friend  of  Camden,  Sel- 
den,and  Bacon ;  nor  the  most  aristocratically 
exclusive,  the  accepted  companion  of  the 
literary  and  amiable  D'Aubigny,  Duke  of 
Lennox. 

We  have  only  one  trace  of  Jonson  on 
his  way  north,  and  that  is  at  Darlington 
in  Durham,  where  we  find  him  engaged  in 
the  trivial  but  necessary  matter  of  the  pur- 
chase of  a  pair  of  new  shoes,  in  the  use  of 
which  the  great  poet  seems  to  have  suf- 
fered rather  more  than  men  of  less  weight. 

Jonson 


23 2        A  Journey  to  the  North 

Jonson  may  well  have  appreciated  Taylor's 
account  of  "  the  last  lap  "  of  his  long  walk. 
"  Having  but  fifteene  miles  to  Edenbor- 
ough,  mounted  upon  my  ten  toes,  [I]  be- 
gan first  to  hobble  and  after  to  amble,  and 
so  being  war  me,  I  fell  to  pace  by  degrees." 
And  Jonson  must  often,  too,  have  agreed 
with  the  water-man's  impressions,  when  he 
says:  "  The  Scots  doe  allow  almost  as  large 
measure  of  their  miles  as  they  doe  of  their 
drinke ;  for  an  English  gallon  either  of  ale 
or  wine  is  but  their  quart,  and  one  Scottish 
mile,  now  and  then,  may  well  stand  for  a 
mile  and  a  halfe  or  two  English." 

At  what  time  in  the  year  Jonson  arrived 
in  Edinburgh  it  is  impossible  to  say,  and  we 
can  but  surmise  side  jaunts  to  his  ancestral 
Annandale  and  Carlisle,  to  Stirling,  to  Loch 
Lomond  and  the  Highlands.  Dominated  by 
its  queenly  castle  perched  on  a  rock,  the 
Edinburgh  of  the  day  was  a  fine  walled  town, 
"wherein  I  observed,"  writes  Taylor,  "the 

fairest 


A  Journey  to  the  North        233 


fairest  and  goodliest  streete  that  ever  mine 
eyes  beheld ;  for  I  did  never  see  or  heare  of 
a  street  of  that  length,  which  is  halfe  an 
English  mile  from  the  castle  to  a  faire  port 
which  they  call  the  Neather  Bow,  and  from 
that  port,  the  street  which  they  call  the 
Kenny-hate  is  one  quarter  of  a  mile  more, 
downe  to  the  Kings  Palace,  called  Holy- 
rood-House,  the  buildings  on  each  side  of 
the  way  being  all  of  squared  stone,  five,  six, 
and  seven  stories  high  and  many  by-lanes 
and  closes  on  each  side  of  the  way,  wherein 
are  gentlemens  houses ;  for  in  the  high- 
street  the  marchants  and  tradesmen  do  dwell, 
but  the  gentlemens  mansions  and  goodliest 
houses  are  obscurely  founded  in  the  afore- 
said lanes :  the  walles  are  eight  or  tenne 
foote  thicke,  exceeding  strong,  not  built  for 
a  day,  a  weeke  or  a  moneth  or  a  yeere,  but 
from  antiquitie  to  posterite,  for  many  ages." 
Edinburgh,  indeed,  was  still  the  proud 
capital  of  a  separate  nation  which  had  given 

her 


234 


A  Journey  to  the  North 


her  richer  southern  neighbor  its  King;  and 
although  the  royal  promise  of  a  return  every 
third  year  had  been  commuted,  amid  the 
cares  of  state,  to  a  single  visit  in  fourteen 
years,  the  Scots  were  too  loyal  and  too  inter- 
ested in  the  larger  political  issues  in  which 
they  were  now  sharing,  to  complain  over- 
much. Besides,  Edinburgh  was  not  with- 
out its  own  politics  and  social  life.  The 
Scottish  Privy  Council  met  in  High  Street 
twice  each  week  throughout  the  greater 
part  of  the  year,  an  august  body  duly  pre- 
serving the  picturesque  ceremonial  of  the 
past  and  composed  of  forty  of  the  chief 
nobles  and  commons  of  Scotland,  repre- 
senting in  its  completeness  the  flower  of 
the  realm.  The  City  Council  in  its  neigh- 
boring quarters  near  the  Tolbooth  was 
scarcely  less  august,  whilst  the  Scottish  bar, 
like  the  bench,  was  already  renowned  for 
its  learning  and  its  gravity,  as  for  its  social, 
if  not  for  its  convivial  graces.  Neither 

could 


A  Journey  to  the  North        235 


could  Henry  Charteris,  the  then  principal 
of  "  the  town's  college,"  a  man  famed 
alike  for  his  scholarship,  his  piety,  and  his 
modesty,  nor  yet  Sir  William  Nisbit,  Lord 
Provost  of  Edinburgh,  the  owner  of  a  fine 
neighboring  estate  of  Deans,  have  either  of 
them  been  wanting  in  the  proverbial  hearti- 
ness and  open-handedness  of  Scottish  hospi- 
tality. 

Taylor  had  reached  Scotland,  it  appears, 
by  quite  a  different  route,  passing  through 
Preston  and  Carlisle  and  stopping  first  at 
Moffat.  Nor  did  he  remain  long  in  the 
capital  after  visiting  Holyrood,  the  Castle, 
and  "  the  haven  and  towne  of  Leeth,"  but 
passing  over  to  Burntisland,  where  he  met 
many  friends,  mostly  petty  officials  of  King 
James's  Court  or  royal  pensioners,  he  betook 
himself  to  the  Highlands  in  quest  of  his 
patrons,  the  Earl  of  Mar  and  Sir  William 
Murray  of  Abercarny.  These  he  finally 
overtook  at  what  he  calls  the  "  Brae  of 

Marr  " 


236        A  Journey  to  the  North 

Marr  "  (Braemar)  at  a  great  hunting  which 
he  joined  and  which  he  describes  con  amore, 
returning  towards  the  end  of  September  to 
Edinburgh.  Taylor  further  tells  us :  "  Now 
the  day  before  I  came  from  Edenborough, 
I  went  to  Leeth  where  I  found  my  long 
approved  and  assured  good  friend  Master 
Benjamin  Jonson,  at  one  Master  John  Stu- 
arts house :  I  thanke  him  for  his  great  kind- 
nesse  towards  me  :  for  at  my  taking  leave 
of  him,  he  gave  me  a  piece  of  gold  of  two 
and  twenty  shillings  to  drink  his  health  in 
England.  And  withall,  willed  me  to  re- 
member his  kind  commendations  to  all  his 
friends.  So  with  a  friendly  farewell,  I  left 
him  as  well,  as  I  hope  never  to  see  him  in 
a  worse  estate :  for  he  is  amongst  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  that  knowe  his  true  worth 
and  their  owne  honours,  where  with  much 
respective  love  he  is  worthily  entertained." 
The  late  Professor  Masson  identified  the 
Master  John  Stuart  of  this  passage  with  a 

substantial 


A  Journey  to  the  North         237 

substantial  householder,  "incumbent  of  the 
office  of  Water-Bailie  of  Leith  and  owning 
a  ship  called  the  Post  of  Leith  of  which  one 
hears  as  employed  some  times  in  the  govern- 
ment service."  How  Jonson  came  to  know 
him,  it  is  impossible  to  surmise.  The  poet 
must  have  been  comfortably  lodged  with 
Master  Stuart,  within  easy  walk  of  town,  for 
Leith  Walk  was  but  a  mile  in  length,  and 
although  the  precise  particulars  of  his  stay 
in  the  northern  capital  are  beyond  recovery 
we  may  feel  assured  that  in  the  water  poet's 
words,  "  for  he  is  amongst  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  that  knowe  his  worth,"  we  have 
no  idle  compliment  but  a  simple  statement 
of  the  fact.  Happily  in  this  we  are  not  left 
wholly  to  surmise.  For  in  the  register  of  the 
Edinburgh  Town  Council,  September  25, 
1618,  and  therefore  much  about  the  time 
of  Taylor's  farewell  visit,  it  appears  that  the 
Provost,  Bailies,  Dean  of  the  Guild,  and 
Council  "being  conveynitt,"  the  following 

order 


A  Journey  to  the  North 

order  was  passed:  "Ordanis  the  Deyne  of 
Gild  to  mak  Benjamyn  Jonsoun,  Inglisman, 
burges  and  gild-brother  in  communi  forma." 
Now  we  are  informed  that  "  the  common 
form  of  admission  in  the  case  of  ordinary 
burgesses  was  that  the  applicant,  armed  in 
some  regulated  manner  with  a  corselet,  a 
hagbut,  or  the  like,  appeared  before  the 
Dean  of  Guild  and  his  colleagues  of  the 
Guild  Chamber,  took  the  customary  oath, 
and  paid  a  larger  or  smaller  sum  for  his  free- 
dom according  to  the  kind  and  the  degree 
of  the  trading  privileges  to  which  it  entitled 
him."  But  it  is  plain  that  Ben  Jonson  was 
not  seeking  trading  rights  in  the  city  of 
Edinburgh,  and  the  subsequent  entries  of 
the  register  make  patent  that  this  was  an 
honorary  admission  to  the  rights  and  privi- 
leges of  citizenship,  a  favor  bestowed  only 
on  men  of  acknowledged  rank  or  promi- 
nence and  such  alone  as  the  city  delighted 
to  honor.  A  later  entry  grants  ^13  6s.  8d. 

to 


A  Journey  to  the  North        239 


to  "  Alexander  Pattersone  for  wrytting  and 
gilting  of  Benjamine  Johnestounes  burges 
ticket,  being  thryis  writtin."  The  Council 
was  apparently  not  easily  satisfied  with  Pat- 
tersone's  calligraphy,  and  wished  the  Eng- 
lish poet  to  take  back  with  him  a  becoming 
memorial  of  their  esteem  and  the  honor  of 
their  bestowal.  Nor  was  this  all;  a  later  min- 
ute of  the  Council  orders  "  the  Thesaurer 
to  pay  to  James  Ainslie,  laite  baillie,  twa 
hundreth  twenty-ane  pound,  sex  schillingis, 
four  pennyis,  debursit  be  him  upone  the  den- 
ner  maid  to  Benjamin  Jonstoun,  conforme 
to  the  act  maid  thairanent  and  compt  given 
in  of  the  same."  No  mean  sum  for  a  ban- 
quet was  £2.21  6s.  4d.,  even  when  computed 
in  debased  Scottish  coinage.  Dear  to  the 
heart  of  convivial  Jonson  must  have  been 
this  public  honoring  of  the  Muses  in  his 
person  in  the  city  sometime  to  be  called  the 
Athens  of  the  North;  and  we  may  let  our 
imaginations  play  as  we  will  about  this 

memorable 


24°        A  Journey  to  the  North 

memorable  feast  in  which  Sir  William  Nis- 
bit,  the  Lord  Provost,  in  the  chair  surrounded 
by  noblemen,  scholars,  chosen  citizens,  and 
gentlemen  of  Scotland,  sought  worthily  to 
honor  the  greatest  living  poet  of  England. 
Depend  upon  it,  the  tables  groaned  with 
substantial  fare  and  curious  delicacies  which 
even  the  Nodes  Ambrosiance  of  later  days 
were  not  to  surpass ;  nor  could  these  north- 
ern potations  have  been  measured  in  terms 
of  the  Mermaid,  or  even  in  the  more  tem- 
perate draughts  of  the  Apollo  Room  of  the 
Devil  Tavern,  Jonson's  later  favorite  Lon- 
don haunt.  Though  Ben  Jonson  might  hold 
his  own  in  this  as  in  all  else,  we  may  feel 
sure  that  his  hosts,  remembering  the  occa- 
sion, might  have  addressed  their  guest  in 
Herrick's  hearty  words : 

For  we  such  clusters  had 
As  made  us  nobly  wild,  not  mad, 

And  yet  each  verse  of  thine 
Outdid  the  meat,  outdid  the  frolic  wine. 

From 


A  Journey  to  the  North 


241 


From  a  literary  point  of  view,  however, 
by  far  the  most  interesting  man  of  Jonson's 
meeting  in  Edinburgh  was  William  Drum- 
mond,  Laird  of  Hawthornden,  a  poet  of  no 
mean  worth  and  a  man  of  exemplary  and 
unaffected  life.  Thanks  to  his  father's  post 
of  gentleman  usher  to  King  James,  young 
Drummond,  in  his  transit  from  the  Univer- 
sity of  Edinburgh  to  the  schools  of  Paris  and 
Bourges,  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Eng- 
lish Court  in  1606.  He  had  stayed  in  Lon- 
don long  enough  to  purchase  and  to  read  — 
we  may  believe  with  zest  and  profit  to  his 
taste — some  of  the  popular  English  books 
of  the  time.  For  a  contemporary  list  of  his 
reading  contains  Sidney's  Arcadia,  Lyly's 
Euphues,  poems  of  Drayton  and  other  popu- 
lar living  poets,  and,  above  all,  Love's  La- 
bour 's  Lost,  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream, 
Romeo  and  "Juliet,  Lucrece,  and  'The  Passion- 
ate Pilgrim.  Drummond  indeed  was  a  very 
cultivated  man  and  added  to  the  classical 

training 


242 


A  Journey  to  the  North 


training  befitting  a  gentleman  of  his  station, 
an  acquaintance  with  French,  Spanish,  and 
Italian  authors,  which  travel,  at  least  as  far 
as  France,  and  reading  had  rendered  consid- 
erable. Although  deeply  interested  in  the 
course  of  political  affairs  in  his  own  and  in 
his  foster  country  of  England,  and  touching 
at  times  the  skirts  of  public  life,  Drummond 
had  nothing  in  common  with  the  adventur- 
ous horde  of  his  fellow  countrymen,  which, 
some  dozen  years  before  he  had  come  into 
his  estate,  had  pressed  southwards  after  their 
King,  intent  to  wrest  their  fortunes  from 
opulent  England,  and  frequently  offering  no 
better  claim  to  the  royal  recognition  than 
the  accident  of  their  Scottish  birth  and  their 
unquestionable  needs.  Nor  did  Drummond 
take  an  active  part  in  the  later  turmoils  that 
hurried  the  nation  to  civil  war  and  regicide, 
though  he  was  ever  bold  in  the  expression 
of  his  loyalty  to  his  King,  and  is  reported 
by  some  to  have  died  of  the  shock  received 

in 


A  Journey  to  the  North        243 


in  the  news  of  King  Charles's  execution. 
To  the  reserved  and  delicate  temper  of  Wil- 
liam Drummond,  touched  as  he  was  with  a 
mellowing  streak  of  the  Epicurean,  the  inde- 
pendence and  seclusion  of  his  paternal  Haw- 
thornden,  its  groves  of  oaks  and  beeches,  its 
rocky  glens,  "silvery  Esk  gliding  between," 
were  things  beyond  the  price  of  rubies.  And 
he  doubtless  envied  very  little  his  friend,  Sir 
William  Alexander  of  Menstrie,  a  poet  like 
himself,  but  one  who  had  exchanged  the 
reminiscent  making  of  Senecan  Monarchic 
'Tragedies,  as  he  called  them,  for  an  active 
life  at  the  brilliant,  frivolous,  and  vexatious 
English  Court,  to  the  end  that  he  might 
write  himself  the  Earl  of  Stirling. 

Hawthornden  House  is  still  one  of  the 
sights  of  the  tourist  to  Edinburgh,  who  may 
now  go  part  way  by  train.  He  will  recall 
the  depleted  and  polluted  Esk,  with  much, 
however,  that  is  still  picturesque  and  de- 
lightful. Hawthornden  is  a  fine  old  house, 

hung 


244 


A  Journey  to  the  North 


hung  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  half  stronghold, 
half  commodious  Jacobean  dwelling.  Above 
are  many  and  diamond-paned  turret  win- 
dows, looking  across  the  tree-tops  to  where 
the  stream,  far  below,  swerves  around  a  bend 
to  Polton.  Beneath  the  house,  cut  in  the 
primitive  red  sandstone,  are  underground 
chambers  in  which  tradition  affirms  that 
Robert  Bruce  once  hid  from  the  pursuing 
soldiers  of  King  Edward  ;  but  which  were 
originally  as  likely  as  not  the  far  earlier 
stronghold  of  marauding  Pictish  chiefs.  It 
was  to  this  pleasant  seat,  surrounded  with 
gardens,  then  as  now,  that  Drummond  wel- 
comed Jonson  and  there  he  hospitably  enter- 
tained him  for  many  days. 

The  two  poets  must  have  offered  a  strik- 
ing contrast  as  they  sat  together  under  the 
great  sycamore  tree  that  is  still  pointed  out 
to  the  credulous  visitor.  Jonson  was  a  man 
of  great  stature  and  exceeding  bulk,  with  a 
harsh-featured  face,  pitted  with  small-pox,  a 

stubble 


A  Journey  to  the  North         245 

stubble  beard,  a  tousled  head,  and  careless 
in  his  dress.  Drummond,  twelve  years  his 
junior,  was  of  delicate  build  and  feature,  of 
somewhat  precise  manners,  and,  if  we  may 
believe  a  contemporary  miniature,  rather 
dainty  in  his  attire,  and  fastidious  even  to 
the  curl  and  the  trimming  of  his  beard. 
But  Jonson,  despite  the  misrepresentation 
of  three  centuries,  was  no  boor.  Nor  was 
Drummond  a  fop.  For  twenty  years  the 
English  dramatist  had  known  every  man  in 
England  worth  knowing.  He  had  conversed 
with  princes  and  received  with  self-respect 
the  patronage  of  lords  and  ladies.  But  he 
had  also  served  as  a  pikeman  in  his  young 
manhood,  trod  the  stage  as  an  unsuccessful 
actor,  and  experienced  the  horrors  of  an 
Elizabethan  felon's  cell.  Drummond's  life 
had  been  far  less  eventful.  He  had  lost  the 
bride  of  his  youthful  choice  before  their 
marriage  day  and  was  still  a  bachelor,  cher- 
ishing the  past  with  a  sincere,  if  somewhat 

sentimental, 


246        A  Journey  to  the  North 

sentimental,  regret.  Jonson,  who  reported 
his  late  wife  "  a  shrew,  but  honest,"  was 
now  a  widower.  The  years  had  taken  from 
him,  also,  a  son  and  a  daughter  and  touched 
his  rugged  nature  with  Death's  irreparable 
stroke.  But  Jonson  was  no  sentimentalist 
and  deprecated  any  unmanly  show  of  feel- 
ing as  much  as  he  deified  the  Jonsonian  trin- 
ity, Wit,  Learning,  and  Honesty  or  Moral 
Worth. 

Nor  were  the  literary  ideals  of  the  two 
poets  less  at  variance  than  their  personalities 
and  their  experience  in  life.  Jonson's  learn- 
ing was  almost  wholly  classical.  Drummond 
even  affirmed  that  all  the  Englishman's  criti- 
cisms "  of  stranger  poets  "  were  "  to  no  pur- 
pose, for  he  neither  doeth  understand  French 
nor  Italiannes."  Be  this  as  it  may,  Jonson 
certainly  had  less  sympathy  and  apprecia- 
tion for  the  glories  of  Italian  literature,  for 
Petrarch,  Tasso,  or  Ariosto,  than  almost  any 
Elizabethan  writer  of  note.  The  Scottish 

poet, 


A  Journey  to  the  North        247 


poet,  on  the  contrary,  was  saturated  with  the 
poetry  of  Italy,  and  in  his  love  of  that  sweet 
sensuousness  and  in  his  adoration  of  sym- 
metry and  convention  in  form,  practised  the 
sonnet,  the  canzon,  and  the  madrigal  — 
those  exquisite  yet  artificial  flowers  of  the 
Italian  Renaissance  —  in  a  manner  which 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  had  hallowed  to  the  Eng- 
land of  a  generation  before. 

Jonson's  visit  was  the  great  event  of  Drum- 
mond's  life.  Nor  was  it  a  trifle  to  hold  the 
greatest  of  living  English  poets  in  familiar 
colloquy  by  the  fireside.  Drummond  was 
full  of  question  and  Jonson  answered  with 
candor  and  the  large  overstatement  of  inti- 
mate discourse.  Happily  for  us,  Drummond 
regarded  the  occasion  as  so  memorable  that 
he  reduced  to  writing  many  of  the  remarks, 
the  criticisms  of  contemporary  authors  and 
other  personages,  the  anecdotes,  and  the  opin- 
ions of  his  distinguished  guest ;  in  no  wise 
purposing,  as  has  been  unjustly  and  injuri- 
ously 


248        A  Journey  to  the  North 


ously  inferred,  to  blazon  them  to  the  world, 
but  that  all  might  inure  to  an  interested  pos- 
terity. The  Notes  of  Ben  Jonson's  Conversa- 
tions 'with  William  Drummond  is  one  of  the 
most  valuable  and  interesting  documents  re- 
lating to  the  great  Elizabethan  age  which 
time  has  suffered  to  reach  us.  In  it  we  have 
the  unguarded  utterance  of  a  man  whose 
critical  attainments  and  unparalleled  oppor- 
tunities entitled  him  to  speak  as  few  have 
been  privileged  to  speak.  Many  of  his  opin- 
ions, it  is  true,  were  hasty,  and  some  were 
prompted  by  prejudice  and  personal  ani- 
mosity. Thus  Daniel,  his  predecessor  as  the 
chief  poetical  entertainer  of  the  Court,  was 
"  a  good  honest  man,  .  .  .  but  no  poet ;  " 
the  dramatists,  Dekker,  Middleton,  and  Day, 
"  were  all  rogues  ;  "  "  Francis  Beaumont 
loved  too  much  himself  and  his  own  verses; " 
and  "  Marston  wrote  his  father-in-lawes 
preachings,  and  his  father-in-law  his  come- 
dies." But  who  can  doubt  that  the  gleam 

of 


A  Journey  to  the  North 


49 


of  truth  flashes  out  in  the  words  that  "  Sir 
Walter  Raughley  esteemed  more  of  fame 
than  conscience,"  that "  Salisbury  never  cared 
for  any  man  longer  nor  he  could  make  use  of 
him,"  and  that  the  late  Queen  "never  saw 
herself  after  she  became  old  in  a  true  glass." 
Jonson  was  a  good  hater  and  an  honest 
one.  Taxed  by  Inigo  Jones,  the  King's 
architect,  with  whom  he  had  quarrelled,  for 
naming  him  a  fool  behind  his  back,  Jonson 
denied  it;  but  declared:  "You're  ane  ar- 
rant knave,  and  I  avouch  it."  On  another 
occasion  he  declared  to  Prince  Charles 
that  "  when  he  wanted  words  to  express  the 
greatest  villaine  in  the  world,  he  would  call 
him  ane  Inigo."  On  the  other  hand  Jon- 
son was  equally  warm  in  his  praises,  getting 
by  heart  and  quoting  with  delight  bits  of 
Spenser,  Wotton,  and  other  poets,  affirming 
that  "  so  he  had  written  'The  Burning  Babe  of 
Father  Southwell,  he  would  have  been  con- 
tent to  destroy  many  of  his  own  [poems]," 

and 


25°        A  Journey  to  the  North 

and  declaring  of  Donne  that  he  was  "  the 
first  poet  in  the  world  in  some  things." 
Modesty  was  not  among  the  cardinal  virtues 
of  Jonson.  Half  in  jest  but  half  in  earnest 
he  called  himself  "The  Poet."  He  hon- 
estly stated  it  as  his  conviction  that  "next 
himself,  only  Fletcher  and  Chapman  could 
make  a  masque;"  and  he  maintained  with 
warmth  "  that  he  was  better  versed,  and 
knew  more  Greek  and  Latin  than  all  the 
poets  in  England,  and  [even  the]  quintes- 
sence [of]  their  braines." 

We  must  add  to  all  this  an  equally  candid 
and  openly  expressed  opinion  of  his  host, 
in  which  he  told  Drummond  that  he  was 
"too  good  and  simple,  and  that  oft  a  man's 
modestie  made  a  fool  of  his  wits  ;  "  that  as 
to  Drummond's  verses,  "  they  were  all  good 
.  .  .  save  that  they  smelled  too  much  of  the 
schooles,  and  were  not  after  the  fancie  of 
the  tyme."  He  even  dissuaded  Drummond 
from  poetry,  "  for  that  she  had  beggared 

him 


A  Journey  to  the  North        251 


him  when  he  might  have  been  a  rich  lawer, 
physitian,  or  merchant."  Can  we  wonder 
that  Drummond  summarized  Jonson  as  "  a 
great  lover  and  praiser  of  himself;  a  con- 
temner  and  scorner  of  others  ;  given  rather 
to  losse  a  friend  than  a  jest ;  .  .  .  [he] 
thinketh  nothing  well  but  what  either  he 
himself  or  some  of  his  friends  and  country- 
men hath  said  or  done ;  he  is  passionately 
kynde  and  angry ;  careless  either  to  gaine 
or  keep ;  vindictive,  but,  if  he  be  well  an- 
swered, at  himself"  ? 

And  yet  the  two  poets  exchanged  many 
subsequent  greetings  of  friendship  and  es- 
teem. One  of  several  extant  letters  of  Drum- 
mond to  Jonson  contains  information  con- 
cerning emblems  and  impresstz,  as  they  were 
called,  gathered  at  the  solicitation  of  the 
English  poet.  Others  convey  other  archaeo- 
logical information.  On  the  other  hand, 
Jonson  transcribed  for  Drummond  certain 
of  his  unpublished  poems,  one  of  which  he 

pompously 


252        A  Journey  to  the  North 

pompously  dedicates  "  To  the  honouring 
respect  born  to  the  friendship  contracted 
with  the  right  virtuous  and  learned  Mr. 
William  Drummond,  and  the  perpetuating 
the  same  by  all  offices  of  love  hereafter,  I, 
Benjamin  Johnson,  whom  he  hath  honoured 
with  the  leave  to  be  called  his,  have  with 
mine  own  hand,  to  satisfy  his  request,  writ- 
ten this  imperfect  song."  Jonson  never  saw 
Drummond's  written  opinion  of  his  charac- 
ter, which  be  it  remembered  Drummond 
never  sought  to  publish.  Drummond  knew 
Jonson's  summary  of  his  own.  Was  Drum- 
mond a  traitor  to  friendship  ?  Are  his  Notes 
to  be  regarded  "  a  tissue  of  malevolence  ? " 
Let  him  who  has  never  entertained  a  single 
arriere  pensee  of  his  friend  be  both  judge  and 
jury,  while  all  others  hold  in  respectful  re- 
membrance the  Scottish  laird,  not  only  for 
his  poetry,  but  for  his  honest  and  unideal- 
ized  portrait  of  a  veritably  great,  if  superfi- 
cially faulty,  man. 


INDEX 


Index 


ABERCARNV,  235. 
Acolastus,  206. 

Actors,   105—127,    110,    ill,  136, 
140,  145,  151,  156,  158,  168. 

Adam  Bell,  179. 

Adventurers,  30,  31,  47,  51—53,  90, 

91. 

Aery  of  Children,  An,  105-127. 
Africa,  70,  71. 
Aimwell,  44. 
Ainslie,  James,  239. 
Alaham,  80,  81. 
Alcaics,  98. 

Alcazar,  the  battle  of,  72. 
Alchemist,   The,  226. 
Alchemy,  52. 
Alencon,  Duke  of,  5. 
Alexander,  Sir  William,  243. 
All-Hollantide,  208. 
Allegory,   10,   16. 

Alleyn,  Edward,  I  56,1  57,  160,  161. 
Alphonsus,  140. 
Anjou,  Duke  of,  88,  101. 
Annandale,  223,  232. 
Antony  and  Cleopatra,  165. 
Apollo,  22. 

Apollo  Room,  the,  240. 
Ara  For  tun  tf,  210. 
Arcadia,   100,  241. 
Areopagus,  the,  95-97. 


Arion,  20,  21. 
Ariosto,  246. 
Aristotle,  100. 
Armada,  180. 

Arraignment  of  Paris,   The,  120. 
Arras,  36. 

Ascham,  Roger,  132. 
Asclepiads,  98. 
Astrophel and  Stella,  loo. 
Ate,  1 20. 
Aubades,  175. 

Ayres,    182,    183,    186,    188,    189, 
192,  193. 

Bacchus,   1 6. 

Bach,   183. 

Bacon,  Sir  Francis,  30,  97,  224,  231. 

Bacon,  Sir  Nicholas,  4. 

Baiting,  16,   107,  156. 

Ballads,  72,   175,   178,   179. 

Bandora,  the,  196. 

Banquet  at  Kenilworth,  20. 

Barbycan  Street,  32. 

Barnfield,  Richard,   I  74. 

Barns  as  theatres,  203. 

Beauchamp  Chapel,  77. 

Beaumont,  Francis,  82,  I  22,  I  56,  209, 

248. 

Beer,  39. 
Beethoven,  200. 


255 


Index 


Bellum  Grammaticale,  205. 

Bevis  of  Southampton,  179. 

Blackfriars,  i  14. 

Borgias,  the,  206. 

Bottom,  215. 

Boulogne,  206. 

Bourges,  241. 

Braemar,  236. 

Breast,  a  good,  175. 

Breton,  Elizabeth,  32,  38—45. 

Breton,  Nicholas,  32. 

Breton,  William,  29-47. 

Bride-ales,  17-19,  179,  203. 

Bruce,  Robert,  244. 

Bruno,  Giordano,  79. 

Buccaneering,  47,  52,  60-63. 

Buchanan,  George,  206. 

Bullen,  A.  H.,  189,   190. 

Burdens,  May-day,  175. 

Burgh,  33. 

Burghley,  Lord,  4,  72. 

Burning  Babe,   The,  249. 

Burntisland,  235. 

Byrd,  William,  174,  187. 

Caccini,   194. 
Cadiz,  70. 
Caelica,  81. 
Cssar,  Julius,   I  65. 
Calatrava,  the  order  of,  66. 
Cambridge,    6,    11,    94,    108, 

132,  205,  231. 
Camden,  William,  4,  231. 
Camena,  8  i . 
Campion,  Thomas,    174,    186, 

191—200,  209. 
Cardinal  Wohey,   169. 
Carew,  Sir  Peter,  62. 


Carlisle,  223,  232,  235. 

Carlow,  67. 

Carols,  175. 

Castle,  Edinburgh,  235. 

Catherlough,  70 

Catullus,  193. 

Cayas,  66. 

Cecil,  Robert,  4,  61,  64,  70,  84,  249. 

Ceres,  16. 

Chaloner,  Sir  Thomas,  6 1 . 

Champion,  the  royal,  87. 

Chapel,  her    Majesty's,  7,  108-110, 

113,  114,  1 16,  187. 
Chapel  children,  the,  113. 
Chapman,    George,    122,    168,    170, 

209. 

Chappell,  W.,  1 86. 
Charles  I,  78,  242,  243. 
Charles  II,   127. 
Charles  V,  55,  206. 
Charles,  Prince,  249. 
Charteris,  Henry,  235. 
Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  93. 
Chettle,  Henry,  158,   168,  170. 
Chevy  Chase,  178. 
Children  actors,  105-127. 
Chimneys,  35. 
Chivalry,  87—90. 
Choir-boys,  108,  109. 
Choir-master,  the,  109,  113,  114. 
109,      Christian  IV,  188. 

Christmas,  175,   179,  208,  210-212, 

215,  216. 

Gibber,  Colley,  127. 
189,      Cittern,  the,   174. 

City,  39,  40,  42,  45-47,  52,  53. 
City  Council  of  Edinburgh,  234,  237. 
Civita  Vecchia,  70. 
256 


Index 


Classic  influence,  97,  98,  100,  246. 

Clifton,  Thomas,  115. 

Clym  of  the  C lough,  179. 

Cock-fighting,  107. 

College  of  God's  Gift,  157. 

Colleges,  207. 

Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love,  1 8 1 . 

Comedy,  195,  205. 

Commissioners,  French,  88. 

Conceit,   101,  181. 

Consorts,  195,   199. 

Contrapuntal  composition,  179,  183, 

186,  187,  192. 
Controversy  of  Irus,  A,  218. 
Converse,   182. 
Cork,  62. 

Cornets,  176,  196,  199. 
Coryat,  Thomas,  228. 
Costume,  8,  88,  89,  no,  in,  158, 

169,  181,  186,  194,  195. 
Court,    5,    7-9,    11,  91,    92,    108, 

204,  230. 
Coventry,   19. 
Cox,  Captain,  20. 
Creation  of  the  White  Knights  of  the 

Order  of  Arista  ties  Well,  The,  218. 
Criticism,  225. 
Crudities,  228. 
Curtis,  Sir  Thomas,  59. 
Cynthia,   120. 
Cynthia'' s  Revels,   1 1  8,   i  20,  I  24. 

Daborne,  Robert,  160,  161. 

Dafne,  194. 

Dancing,   194,   196,   197—200,  204, 

211. 

Dancing-masters,   179. 
Danes,  overthrow  of  the,   19. 


Daniel,  Samuel,  248. 

Darlington,  231. 

Davenant,  Sir  William,  78. 

Davey,  H.,  189. 

Day,  John,  248. 

Days,  the,  as  characters,  214. 

Dee,  Dr.,  52. 

Defence  of  Poesie,  100,  178. 

Dekker,  Thomas,  151-154,  159, 
168,  170,  248. 

Denmark,  140,  188. 

Descanting,  174. 

Detraction,  217. 

Devil  Tavern,  240. 

Diana,   22,  23. 

Diary,  Hens  low  e1  s,  156—170. 

Diary  of  a  Resident  of  London,  41. 

Discovery,  90,  91. 

Dog  Tavern,  the,  227. 

Donne,  John,  250. 

Douglas,   178. 

Dowgate,  131. 

Dowland,  John,  173,  174,  187,  1 88. 

Drake,  Sir  Francis,  47,  63,  91. 

Drama,  Elizabeth  and  the,  10;  adven- 
ture commemorated  in  the,  52,  53; 
on  Stucley's  life,  59,  60,  72;  of 
Greville,  80—82;  children  players 
in  the,  105-127;  of  Spenser's  boy- 
hood, 107,  1 08;  the  courtly  and 
academic,  108,  109,  203—219; 
the  Revels,  109;  Field's  attacks  on 
the,  117;  of  Jonson,  1 17,  I  I  8,  226; 
satirical  and  allegorical,  117,  118, 
I  20;  of  Marlowe  and  Shakespeare, 
120,  121;  realistic,  122,  123; 
playwrights  often  actors,  136;  Eng- 
lish, abroad,  140;  of  Greene,  140, 


257 


Index 


141;  of  Shakespeare,  141,  142; 
Henslowe  and  the,  154-170;  pro- 
duction of  new  plays,  162,  163; 
payment  for  plays,  168.  See  also 
Actors,  Masques,  Playwrights,  and 
the  various  dramatic  authors. 

Drayton,  Michael,  167,  169,  170, 
184,  185,  241. 

Dress,  8,  88,  89,  no,  in,  158, 
168,  169,  186,  194. 

Drum,  the,  176,  195. 

Drummond,  William,  his  education, 
241,  242;  in  London,  241;  read- 
ing in  English  poets,  241;  not  an 
adventurer,  242;  his  loyalty,  242; 
at  Hawthornden,  243;  contrasted 
withjonson,  244;  his  bereavement, 
245;  his  love  of  Italian  poetry, 
246;  his  entertainment  of  Jonson, 
244-251;  literary  ideals  of,  248, 
249;  his  Notes  of  Conversations, 
247,  248,  252;  Jonson's  opinion 
of,  250;  letters  of,  to  Jonson,  251, 
252. 

Dublin  Castle,  65. 

Duel,  the,  41,  42. 

Dulwich,  157,  1 60. 

Dumps,  175. 

Dutch,  9. 

Dutch  wars,  43. 

Dyer,  Sir  Edward,  95. 

Eastward  Hoe  !  46. 
Edinburgh,  228,  232-241,  243. 
Edward  VI,  54,  93,  244. 
Edwards,  Richard,  109. 
Elizabeth,  her  character  and  talents,  3— 
11,    79;    and    Parliament,    5,    6; 


learning  of,  5,  8;  and  her  Court,  5, 
7-9,  91,  92,  100;  a  contemporary 
portrait  of,  8,  9;  and  the  drama,  10, 
107,  109,  113;  the  progresses  of, 
10—25;  tne  age  of,  30;  and  trade- 
ventures,  52;  and  Stucley,  57,  60, 
62,  63,  65-67,  73;  and  buc- 
caneering, 60—62;  letter  of  Shane 
O'Neill  to,  63;  and  Greville,  78- 
80,  83,  84,91,  92;  Greville' s remi- 
niscences of,  83,  84;  champion  of, 
87;  negotiations  for  marriage  of,  88; 
and  the  departure  of  Sidney  and 
Greville  from  Court,  91,  92;  her 
withdrawals  of  favor,  100;  pro- 
jected marriage  to  Anjou,  100;  and 
theatres,  107;  allegorized  in  Endi- 
mion,  120;  in  the  Arraignment  of 
Paris,  120;  and  the  Faerie  Queene, 
135;  and  music,  175,  176;  at 
Gray's  Inn,  209;  Jonson's  remark 
upon,  249. 

Embassy  from  Lubberland,  An,  218. 

Emblems,  251. 

Endimion,  1 20,  121. 

Epicaene  or  the  Silent  Woman,  118, 
226. 

Epigram,  6,  184,  193. 

Epitaph  on  Salathiel  Pavey,  1 1 9. 

Esk,  the,  243. 

Essay es,  Bacon's,  34. 

Essex,  33. 

Eugenia,  218. 

Euphues,  241. 

Euridice,   1 94. 

Eyases,  little,  105—127. 

Eyre,  Simon,  46. 

Ezechias,  205. 


258 


Index 


Faerie  Queene,  The,  97,  99,  135. 
Falconbridge,  58. 
Falstaff,  38,  165-167,  1 80. 
Famous  Victories   of  Henry  V,  The, 

1 66. 

Fauns,  16. 

Faustina  hath  the  fairer  face,  184. 
Faust  us,  162. 
Fencing-masters,  179. 
Ferel,  67. 

Ferrabosco,  Alphonso,  195. 
Festivals,  musical,  199. 
Fiddlers,  179. 
Field,  John,  117. 
Field,  Nathaniel,  116— 118. 
Fife,  the,  176. 
Fireworks,  16,  17. 
Fletcher,  John,  82,  122,  156,  250. 
Florence,  1 94. 
Florida,  57,  61. 
Food,  20,  37,  38. 
Fortune  Theatre,  the,  155. 
Four  Prentices  of  London,  52,  53. 
Fragmenta  Regalia,  79. 
France,  8,  54,  55,  61,  64,  88,  100, 

135,  242,  246. 
French,  8,  100,  242,  246. 
Friar  Bacon  and  Friar  Bungay,  141. 
Friendships,  literary,  82. 
Frobisher,  Sir  John,  91. 
Fuller,  Thomas,  61. 
Full  fathom  Jive  my  father  lies,  185. 
Furniture,  33,  35—37. 

Galliard,  the,  5. 

Garden,  an  Elizabethan,  33,  34. 
Garden  of  Delight,  The  Muses'  ,191. 
Garter,  Knights  of  the,  7. 


Gascoigne,  George,  39-45,  97,  177. 

Gascoigne,  Thomas,  94. 

Gawain,  Sir,  20. 

Geliffes,  38. 

George  a  Greene,  141. 

Gesta  Grayorum,  209. 

Gilbert,  Sir  Humphrey,  47,  53,  91. 

Giles,  Saint,  29,  33. 

Glass  panes,  35. 

Glass,  Venetian,  36. 

Glees,  176. 

Godly  Exhortation,  A,  117. 

God's  Gift,  College  of,  157. 

Gray's  Inn,  108,  192,  208,  209. 

Greek,  8,  98,  99,  194,  250. 

Greene,  Robert,  94,  131  —  147. 

Greenwich,  7. 

Gregory  XIII,  70—72. 

Gremio,  36. 

Grenville,  Sir  Richard,  47. 

Gresham,  Sir  Thomas,  3 1 . 

Greville,  Fulke,  his  tomb,  77;  his  glory 
under  Elizabeth,  79,  80;  his  dramas, 
80;  his  friendship  with  Sidney,  82— 
87;  his  Life  of  Sidney,  83;  his  part 
in  tourney,  87-89;  his  attempt  to 
sail  with  Drake,  9 1 ;  celebrated  with 
Dyer  by  Sidney,  95. 

Croats-worth  of  Wit,  A,  131-147. 

Guilds,  1 08. 

Guy  of  Warwick,  179. 

Gyles,  Nathaniel,  113-117. 


Hakluyt,  Richard,  90. 
Hal,  Prince,  121,  180. 
Hamlet,  105,  106,  141, 
Hampton  Court,  I  1 1 . 
Hanay,  John,   177. 
259 


165. 


Index 


Harington,  Sir  John,  205. 
Harpers,  178. 

Harpsichord,  the,  176,  196. 
Harrison,  William,  37. 
Harvey,  Gabriel,  94—99. 
Hathway,  Richard,  167,  169. 
Having  this  day,  my  horse,  my  hand,  my 

lance,  89,  90. 

Hawkins,  Sir  John,  31,  47,  53,  63. 
Hawthornden,  241—252. 
Henry  II  of  France,  54. 
Henry  IV,  i  80. 
Henry  IV,  38,  165,  166. 
Henry  V,  121,  164,  165,  167,  180. 
Henry  V,  165. 

Henry  V,  Famous  Victories  of,  166. 
Henry  VI,  163,  164. 
Henry  VI,   163,  164. 
Henry  VIII,  54,    58,   78,   93,    176, 

195. 

Henslowe,  Philip,  154—170. 
Hens  low  e^ 's  Diary,   156—170. 
Hentzner,  Paul,  7. 
Herrick,  Robert,  240. 
Hertfordshire,  206. 
Hesse,  Landgrave  of,   1 88. 
Hexameter,  98. 
Hey  wood,  John,  93. 
Hey  wood,  Thomas,  52,  53,  168. 
Higgs,  Griffin,  209—219. 
High  Street,  234. 
Highlands,  the,  234,  235. 
History,  84,  94. 
Hobby-horses,   110. 
Hock-tide  play,  19,  20. 
Holland,  9,  43. 
Holyrood,  233,  235. 
Homer,   170. 


Horace,  1 18. 

Houses,  Elizabethan,  33-39,  233. 

Hox-Tuesday  play,  19,  20. 

Humanism,  206. 

Hume,  Tobias,  186,  190. 

Hunting,  16. 

Hunts-up,  the,  175. 

Idron,  70. 

Ignoramus,  205,  206. 

Impress^,  251. 

In  praise  of  Music  and  Sweet  Poetry, 

173,  184,  187. 

Inns  of  Court,  108,  192,  207-209. 
Inns  used  for  theatres,  107,  203. 
Inquisition,  the,  47. 
Instruments,     174,    176,    179,     180, 

189,  195-197,  199. 
Interludes,  110,  114,  203,  211. 
Ira  sea  Tumulus  Fortune,  216. 
Ireland,    31,    62-67,    69,    70,    73, 

135- 

Iris,  22-24. 
Isle  of  Dogs,  45. 
//  was  a  Lover  and  his  Lass,  187. 
Italian,  8,  242,  246. 
Italy,    8,    97,  98,    100,    132,    134, 

182,  185,  194,  242,  246,  247. 
Itys,  212. 

James  I,  78,  79,  83,  156,  206,  223, 

224,  235,  241. 
Jew  of  Malta,   The,  162. 
Jewes  Garden,  33. 
John,  Don,  of  Austria,  65,  68. 
John,  Sir,  Parson  of  Wrotham,  167. 
Jones,  Inigo,   195,  249. 
Jones,  Robert,  186,  189,  191. 


260 


Index 


Jonson,  Ben,  relation  of,  in  time  to  the  Kenshlagh,  70. 

members  of  the  Areopagus,  97;  and  King  John,  58. 

Field,   117,    1 1 8;   plays  of,   cited,  King  Lear,  165. 

117,  118,  227;  and  Pavey,  118-  King's  College,  205. 

1 20;  wrote  for  boy  com  panics,  1 22;  Kinsale,  62,  67. 

payment  of,  as    playwright,    168;  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  122. 

and  Henslowe,  168,  170;  masques  Kyd,  Thomas,  140,  142,  163,  164. 

of,  195,  226;  and  Inigo  Jones,  195,  Kynaston,  Francis,  127. 
249;  Ferrabosco,  the  composer  for, 

195;  and  the  courtly  drama,  204;  Lady  of  the  Lake,  15. 

journey  of,  to  the  north,  223-252;  Lafylond,  67. 

Scotch  ancestry  of,  223  ;  appearance  Lamb,  Charles,  80,  81. 

and  physical  infirmities  of,  225,  244,  Laneham,  Robert,  13-24. 

245;  character  of,  224,  232,  250—  Languet,  Stephen,  79. 

252;  the  position  of,  225— 227,  230,  Latin,  5,  8,  16, 
240,  245,  246;  folio  of,  225;  and 
John  Taylor,  228—230;  purchases 


,  108,  165,  192, 

205-207,      2IO,      211,      214-216, 

250. 

shoes,   231;    at  Leith,    236,   237;     Lear,  King,  165. 
freedom    of   Edinburgh    bestowed     Legge,  Thomas,  205. 
on,  237-240;  entertained  by  Drum-     Leicester,  Earl  of,    12-25,    64,  117, 

1 20,  140. 


mond,  244-25  I ;  wife  of,  246;  and 

literature,    246,  247;  conversation  Leinster,  67,  70. 

of,    with    Drummond,     248-252;  Leith,  235-237. 

estimate   of   himself,    250;    Drum-  Lennox,  Duke  of,  231. 

mond's  estimate  of,  251.  Lent,  209,  216. 

Jonson,  An  Ode  for  Ben,  240.  Lepanto,  battle  of,  68. 

Jonson' s  Conversations  with   William  Letter,  Laneham's,  13-24. 

Drummond,  Notes  of  Ben,  248.  Lincoln,  33. 
Journey  to  the  North,  A,  223-259. 
Jove,  22. 


Julius  C(£sar,   164,   165. 
Juno,  22-24. 
Juvenal,   144. 

Katharine,   121. 
Kavanagh,  67. 
Kenihvorth,  i  2-2  5 . 
Kenny-hate,  233. 


Lisbon,  70. 

Lodge,  Thomas,  94,  141,  144. 

Lomond,  Loch,  232. 

Looking   Glasse  for  London,   A,    141, 

144. 

Lovers  Labour's  Lost,  241. 
Lucre ce,  241. 
Luna,  215. 

Lute,  the,  174,  180,  196. 
Lyly,  John,  94,  120,  121,204,241. 
261 


Index 


Lyric,  the,  174-177,  181,  186,  189, 
192—194,200,225.  See  also  Mad- 
rigals, Song. 

Machiavelli,  3,  80,  143. 

Madrid,  61,  69. 

Madrigals,  182-186,  188,  193,  247. 

Mar,  Earl  of,  235. 

Marenzio,  Luca,  182. 

Marlowe,  Christopher,  97,  120,  140, 

142,   143,    153,    162-164,    l8l> 

204. 

Marriage  portions,  33,  39. 
Mars,  1 6. 
Marshalsea,  159. 
Marston,  John,  122,  170,  248. 
Martial,  118. 
Mary,  Queen,  55. 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  206. 
Masque,  the,  10,  16,  109,  1 1 1,  152, 

194-200,    203,    204,  209,    211, 

216,  225,  226,  250. 
Masque  at  the  Marriage  of  the  Lord 

Hayes,  196. 
Masson,  David,  236. 
May-day,   175. 
Menstrie,  243. 
Merchant,  the,  30,  31,   39,    45-47, 

52>  53- 
Merchant  adventurers,  47,  51—63. 

Merchant  of  Venice,   The,  \  64. 
Merchant  Tailors'  School,  113. 
Mercury,  22,  23. 
Mercutio,  179,  180. 
Mermaid  at  Kenilworth,  the,  20. 
Mermaid  Tavern,  the,   169,  240. 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,   The,  165. 
Middleton,  Thomas,  248. 


Midsummer  Night's   Dream,   A,    17, 

185,  215,  241. 
Minstrels,  178-180. 
Miracles,  19,  108. 
Mirror  for  Magistrates,   The,  93. 
Mock-fights,  1 6,  19. 
Moffat,  235. 

Monarchic  Tragedies,  243. 
Monopolies,  47. 
Montaigne,  206. 
Moonshine,  215. 
Moralities,  10,  19,  108. 
Morley,   Thomas,     174,     183,     185, 

186. 

Morocco,  52,  71. 
Morough,  70. 
Morris-dancing,  18,  211. 
Mountjoy,  Lord,  92. 
Mummings,  203. 
Munday,  Anthony,  167,  169. 
Murray,  Sir  William,  235. 
Musa  Transalpina,  181,  182. 
Music,  15,  1 6,  109,  114,  173-200. 
Musicians,  179,  180,  187,  188,  196. 
Music-teachers,  I  79. 
Mustapha,  80,  81. 
My  true  love  hath  my  heart,  185. 

Nashe,  Thomas,   141,   163,  205. 

Naunton,  Sir  Robert,  79. 

Neather  Bow,  233. 

Neptune,  20. 

New  Year's  Day,  212. 

Newcastle,  230. 

Newington  Butts,  155. 

Nichols,  John,  i  i . 

Nisbit,  Sir  William,  235,  240. 

Nodes  Ambrosiantf,  240. 


262 


Index 


Norwich,  134. 

Notes  of  Ben  J onset?  s  Conversations 
with  WilliamDrummond,  248,  252. 

O  Love  !  they  wrong  thee  much,  1 90. 
O  Sweet  Content,  153. 
Ode  for  Ben  Jons  on,  An,  240. 
Old  Fortunatus,  153. 
Oldcastle,  Sir  John,  166,  169. 
O'Neill,  Shane,  63,  64. 
Opera,  the,  194,  199. 
Orations,   10. 

Oxford,  6,  11,  94,  1 08,  109,  203— 
219,  231. 

Pageants,  109,  203. 

Palestrina,  183. 

Pallas,  22. 

Palsgrave,  John,  206. 

Pamphlet,  the,  95,  135,  140,  152, 
163. 

Paris,  1 10,  241. 

Parliament,  5,  6. 

Passionate  Pilgrim,   The,  241. 

Pastoral,  the,  100. 

Patient  Grissil,  153. 

Pattersone,  Alexander,  239. 

Paul's,  children  of,  108,  110,  113. 

Paul's  Walk,  51,  121. 

Pavey,  Salathiel,   116,   118,  119. 

Pedantius,  205. 

Peele,  George,  94,  120,  145. 

Pembroke,  Earl  of,  64. 

Penelope1  s  Wooers,  216. 

Penny  les  Pilgrimage  .  .  .  of  John  Tay- 
lor, 228-230, 232, 233, 235—237. 

Percy,  178. 

Peri,  1 94. 


Periander,  217. 

Petrarch,  181,  246. 

Pewter,  36. 

Philip  II,  65,  68-73. 

Philomanthes,  215. 

Philomela,   177. 

Philosophus,  210. 

Philosophy,  94. 

Phcebus,  1 6. 

Pianoforte,  the,  176. 

Piers  Penniless,  163. 

Pipe,  the,  179,  195. 

Piracy,  31,  47,  52,  60—63,  66. 

Pius  V,  53,  68,  69,  73. 

Plain-song,  1 74. 

Plautus,   1 08. 

Playwrights,  136,  139-142,  151, 
158-170. 

Plymouth,  9 1 . 

Poet  at  Kenilworth,  the,  15. 

Poetaster,   The,  118,  120. 

Poetry,  and  Elizabeth,  10  ;  of  Gre- 
ville,  83  ;  Sidney  and  the  culti- 
vation of,  90,  94,  99,  100,  1 8 1, 
247;  in  Sidney's  youth,  93,  94;  the 
Areopagus  and,  94-101;  of  Spen- 
ser, 135;  and  music,  173—200; 
Bacon's  witticism  on,  and  Jonson, 
224;  of  Jonson,  223—226,  247;  of 
Taylor,  227,  228;  of  Drummond, 
246,  247;  Jonson  on  certain  poets, 
248-250. 

Polton,  244. 

Polyolbion,    167. 

Pomona,   16. 

Porters  at  Kenilworth,  15. 

Portugal,  70. 

Posies,  177. 


263 


Index 


Post  of  Leith,  237. 

Poulderings,  210,  214,  218. 

Prentices,  52,  53. 

Preston,  235. 

Prince,   Christmas,    210,    212,   215 

216. 

Prince  of  Purpoole,  208,  209. 
Princeps,  210. 

Privy  Council  of  Scotland,  235. 
Processions,   I  o. 
Progresses,  3—25,  43. 
Prologues,  123-126,  152,  212. 
Properties,  stage,  109-1  i  i,  158,  168 

169. 

Proteus,  i  5. 
Puppets,  203. 
Puritanism,  47,  134,  204. 
Purpoole,  Prince  of,  208,  209. 
Puttenham,  George,  178. 

Quintain,  18. 

Radcliffe,  Ralph,  206. 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  4,  53,  187,  249 

Ralph  Roister  Doister,  205. 

Recorder,  the,  i  74. 

Redcross  Street,  29,  33,  40,  41. 

Religion,  86. 

Renaissance,  the,  3,  247. 

Repentance,   The,  133. 

Return  from  Parnassus,    The,   123. 

Revels,  Queen's,  109. 

Rhetoric,  94. 

Richard  Cceur  de  Lion,  58. 

Richard  III,  165. 

Richard  III,   165. 

Richardus  Tertius,  205. 

Romances,  179. 


Rome,  68,  73. 

Romeo,  165,  179. 

Romeo  and  Juliet,    165,    179,    180, 

241. 

,      Rose  Theatre,  the,  155. 
Ross,  70. 

Rowley,  Samuel,  I  70. 
Rusticus,  210. 

Sackbut,  the,  196. 

Sackville,  Thomas,  205. 

St.  Andrew's,  Norwich,  134. 
,      St.  Brice's  Day,  19. 

St.  Gyles,  the  clarke  of,  214. 

St.  John's  College,  Oxford,  209,  210, 
214. 

St.  John's  Day,  211. 

St.  Mary's  Church,  Warwick,  77. 

St.  Paul's,  1 08,  110,  113,  121. 

St.  Saviour's,  Southwark,  155. 

Salisbury,  Earl  of.    See  Cecil. 

Sapphics,  98. 

Savage  men,  1 6. 

Saxony,  55,  140. 

Scarlotti,   183. 

Scenery,  168,  195,  200. 

Schlegel,  1 94. 

Schools,  78,  i  10,   113,  117,  207. 

Scipio  Africanus,  110. 

Scotch,  8. 

Scotland,  8,  63,  223-252. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,   i  2. 

Scrivener,  the,  32. 

Sebastian  of  Portugal,  70,  71. 

Selden,  John,  231. 

Seneca,  81,  243. 

Seras,   175. 

Serenades,  175. 
264 


Index 


Sermon,  an  Elizabethan,  5. 
Seven  Days  of  the  Week,  214,  215. 
Shakespeare,  William,  and  the  Queen's 
progress,  13;  works  of,  cited,  17, 

36,    38,    58,    105,    106,    122,    141, 

165,  179,  180,  185,  215,  241; 
relation  in  time  to  Sidney,  97;  and 
the  courtly  drama,  121,  204;  and 
the  boy  companies,  122  ;  and  the 
actor's  profession,  136;  Greene  on, 
141,  142,  145,  146;  and  Dekker, 
151,  154;  his  career,  151;  the 
sonnets  of,  153,  181;  and  Hens- 
lowe,  156,  164,  165;  the  Falstaff 
of,  165-167;  payment  of,  167; 
love  for  music,  174;  song-books 
during  the  life  of,  180;  songs  of, 
185,  187;  and  Beethoven,  200; 
read  by  Drummond,  241. 

Sharers,  158. 

Shepheardes  Kalender,   The,  90. 

Shews,  87,   109,  211,  212,  216. 

Shoemakers  Holiday,   The,  46 . 

Shrewsbury  School,  78. 

Shrove  Tuesday,  216. 

Sibyls,   15. 

Sidney,  Sir  Henry,  64. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  and  Elizabeth, 
4;  schoolmate  ofGreville,  78;  trav- 
elled with  Languet,  79;  friendship 
with  Greville,  82-101;  life  of,  by 
Greville,  83-86,  91;  Greville's 
tribute  to,  85,  86;  at  the  tourney, 
87-90;  sonnet  of,  89,  90;  inter- 
ested in  discovery  and  adventure, 
90,  91;  plans  to  leave  Court,  91, 
92;  literature  in  the  youth  of,  93, 
94;  at  Oxford,  94;  founded  the 


Areopagus,  95-99;  study  of  pros- 
ody, 99,  100;  aims  and  achieve- 
ments in  literature,  94,  99,  100, 
181,247;  works  of,  99,  loo,  241 ; 
Defence  quoted,  178;  My  true  love 
hath  my  heart,  185. 

Sidney,  Life  of  the  Renowned  Sir 
Philip,  83-86,  91. 

Silent  Woman,  The,  118,  226. 

Silver,  36. 

Simples,  34. 

Singing,  114,  174,  176. 

Sir  John  Oldcastle,  First  Part,  166, 
167. 

Sir  Thomas  Stucley,  59,  60. 

Sir  Thopas,   The  Tale  of,  178. 

Skelton,  John,  93. 

Slavery,  3  i ,  46. 

Smerwick,  3  i . 

Snuffers,  a  pair  of,  as  a  character,  214. 

Snug,  215. 

Somerset,  Duke  of,  54. 

S omnium  Fundatoris,  214. 

Song-books,  180,  182,  183,  186, 191, 
192. 

Songs  and  song-writing,  10,  173-200. 

Sonnet,  the,  40,  43,  100,  174,  181, 
247. 

Sophocles,  8 1 . 

Southwark,   155. 

Southwell,  Robert,  177,  249. 

Spain,  5,  8,  31,  52,  53,  6l,  64-73, 
91,  100,  242. 

Spanish,  8,  31,  242. 

Spanish  Tragedy,   The,  163. 

Specimens  of  English  Dramatic  Poets, 
80,  8  i. 

Spendthrift,  the  Elizabethan,  44. 

65 


Index 


Spenser,  Edmund,  and  Elizabeth,  4; 
and  the  Spanish  invaders  of  Ireland, 
30,  31;  at  Cambridge,  94;  corre- 
spondence with  Harvey,  96;  ex- 
periments in  classical  metres,  98, 
99;  London  in  boyhood  of,  107; 
the  Faerie  Queene  of,  135;  referred 
to  in  Barnfield's  sonnet,  173,  188; 
supreme  beauty  of  the  poetry  of, 
1 8 1 ;  quoted  by  Jonson,  249. 

Spiggott,  Goodwife,  212. 

Spinet,  the,  1 76. 

Stage,  the,  216. 

Star-Chamber,  the,  116. 

Starveling,  215. 

Steele  Glas,  The,  43. 

Stirling,  232. 

Stow,  John,  33. 

Stuart,  John,  236,  238. 

Stuart,  Mary,  65. 

Stucley,  Thomas,  51—73. 

Stucley,  Sir  Thomas,  59,  60. 

Stultus,  2 1  o. 

Such  was  old  Orpheus'  cunning,  185. 

Suffolk,  Duke  of,  54. 

Sun  Tavern,  the,  227. 

Sunday  night,  215. 

Surface,  Charles,  44. 

Surrey,  Earl  of,  94,  97. 

Swan  Theatre,  the,  155. 

Sycamore  at  Hawthornden,  244. 

Sylvanus,  16. 

Table,  the,  20,  37,  38. 

Tabor,  the,  195. 

Tacitus,  80. 

Take,   O  take,  those  lips  away,  185. 

Tamburlaine,  140,  162. 


Taming  of  the  Shrew,  The,  36. 

Tapestry,  36. 

Tasso,  246. 

Tavern,  the,  226,  227,  231,  240. 

Taylor,  John,    227-230,  232,    233, 

235-237- 

Temple,  Inner  and  Middle,  108. 
Terence,  108. 
Thalia  in  Oxford,  203—219, 
Theatres,   the,   107,   114-116,  121, 

155-170,  216. 
Third  Book  of  Ayr es,  192. 
Tilbury,  6. 

Tilting,  15,  1 6,  87,  88. 
Time'' s  Complaint,  z  1 2-2 1 4. 
Timon  of  Athens,  165. 
Titus  Andronicus,  164. 
Tobacco,  as  a  character,  125. 
Tolbooth,  the,  234. 
Tottel' s  Miscellany,  93,  94. 
Touchstone  (in  East-ward  Hoe  !},  46'. 
Tourney  in  1581,  88. 
Tragedy,  194,  205,  216-218. 
Tragedy  of  Philomela,  The,  211. 
Translation,  225. 
Triple  Tun  Tavern,  the,  227. 
Triton,  20. 
Triumph,  a,  1 10. 
Trumpet,  the,  15,  176,  195. 
Turkey,  68. 
Twelve  Days,  211. 
Two  Pastorals,  95,  96. 
Tybalt,  179. 

Udall,  Nicholas,  205. 
Universities,  6,    II,    94,    108,    132, 
203—219,  231,  235,  241. 

Usury,  47. 


266 


Index 


Venus,  22,  1 20. 

Versification,  93,  94,  98—100,  192, 

224. 
Vigilate   on   Candlemas   Night,    215, 

216. 

Viol  de  gamboys,  the,  174. 
Violin,  the,   196. 
Virginals,  the,  176,  187. 
Virginia,  91,   135. 
Voyages,  Hakluyt's,  90. 

Wagner,  200. 

Walsingham,  Sir  Francis,  4,  70. 

Walthamstow,  32,  42,  44. 

War  of  the  Theatres,  the,  121. 

Warwick,  77. 

Warwick  Castle,  78. 

Warwickshire,  12—25. 

Watson,  Thomas,  94. 

Waver  ley  Novels,  1 6  8 . 

Weavers,  175. 

Westcot,  Sebastian,  110. 

Westminster  School,  110,  113,  117. 

Wexford,  70. 


When  Music  and  Sweet  Poetry  agree, 

173-200. 
Whitsuntide,  88. 
Whittington,  Sir  Richard,  52. 
Will,  An  Elizabethan,  29-47. 
William  the  Silent,  79. 
Wilson,  John,  186. 
Wilson,  Robert,  167,  169. 
Windsor,  1 10,  180. 
Woman  Killed  with  Kindness,  A,  168. 
Women-actors,  127. 
Worthies  of  England,  6 1 . 
Wotton,  Sir  Henry,  249. 
Wyatt,  Sir  Thomas,  94. 
Wykes,  33. 

Yong,  Nicholas,  181,  182. 
York,  230. 

Tule-tide  Melody  of  Christmas  Sports, 
215. 

Zabeta,  22,  23. 

Zabeta,  Masque  of,  21-24. 


267 


Cbe 

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